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WILLIAM   GILMORE  SIMMS 


Saljnsntt'fi  EmjUbIj  GUaaatra 


WILLIAM  GILMORE  SIMMS'S 


The  Yemassee 


A  ROMANCE  OF   CAROLINA 


EDITED,  WITH  INTRODUCTION  AND  NOTES,  BY 

M.   LYLE  SPENCER,  Ph.  D. 

Professor  of  English 
The  Woman's  College  of  Alabama 


JOHNSON  PUBLISHING  CO. 
RICHMOND 


Johnson  Series  of  English 
Classics 

GOLDSMITH'S  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.     Edited 
by  Prof.  G.  C.  Edwards. 

BURKE'S  SPEECH  ON  CONCILIATION.     Edited 
by  Dr.  James   M.  Garnett. 

TENNYSON'S  PRINCESS.    Edited  by  Dr.  C.  W.  Kent. 

MACAULAY'S   ESSAYS  ON   MILTON    AND   AD. 
DISON.    Edited  by  Dr.  C.  Alphonso  Smith. 

POPE'S   HOMER'S   ILIAD.    Edited   by    Professor 
F.  E.  Shoup  and  Isaac  Ball. 

ADDISON'S  SIR  ROGER  DE  COVERLEY  PAPERS. 
Edited  by  Prof.  John  Calvin  Metcalf. 

SHAKESPEARE'S  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  Edited 
by  Dr.  Robert  Sharp. 

THE  ANCIENT  MARINER.     Edited  by  Prof.  Nor. 
man  H.  Pitman. 

POE'S  POEMS  AND  TALES.     Edited  by    Dr.    R 
[    .'      A.  Stewart. 

SIMH'S  THE  YEMASSEE.     Edited  by  Dr.  M   Lyle 
e  •  *,    „  Spencer. 

Others  to  be  Announced. 


Copyright  1911 
By  M.  LYLE  SPENCER 


L.  H.  J. 


USa 


*7i  H  KP7 


PREFACE 


The  text  followed  in  this  edition  of  The  Yemassee,  except 
for  the  omission  of  the  useless  bits  of  verse  at  the  beginnings 
of  the  chapters,  is  that  of  the  second  copyright  edition,  1853. 
It  has  seemed  advisable  to  republish  this  edition,  rather  than 
that  of  1835,  because  from  its  title-page  we  learn  that  it 
was  "  new  and  revised  "  in  1853.  And  certainly  many  altera- 
tions, generally  for  the  better,  were  made  in  it  from  the  earlier 
edition.  Simms  was  always  a  hasty,  often  a  superficial, 
worker,  however,  and  many  mistakes  are  to  be  found  in  both 
the  first  and  the  second  editions,  some  newly  made  in  1853, 
others  unnoticed  and  uncorrected  from  1835.  In  the  present 
text  the  1853  edition  has  been  carefully  collated  with  that  of 
1835  and  all  the  flagrant  errors  in  the  former  corrected.  All 
such  corrections  or  alterations  from  the  later  text,  however, 
have  been  carefully  indicated,  either  by  brackets  or  in  the 
foot-notes.  But,  after  all,  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  many 
probable  errors  may  still  be  found  in  the  present  edition.  For 
this  the  editor  offers  as  his  excuse  the  fact  that  he  has  been 
extremely  unwilling,  except  when  absolutely  necessary,  to 
tamper  with  the  authenticated  text  of  the  author. 

The  editor  takes  this  opportunity  to  express  his  thanks  to 
Mr.  William  Gilmore  Simms,  of  Barnwell,  South  Carolina, 
and  to  Dr.  Thomas  M.  Owen,  of  Montgomery,  Alabama,  for 
the  loan  of  various  books  which  he  has  needed  in  editing  this 

text. 

M.  L.  S. 

Montgomery,  Alabama. 


INTRODUCTION 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 

William  Gilmore  Simms  was  born  where  most  men  die, 
in  obscurity :  and  his  name  would  now  be  where  he  was  born, 
had  he  accomplished  as  little  in  the  world  as  the  generations 
of  Simmses  who  preceded  him.  On  the  contrary,  had  he  not 
attempted  too  much  in  his  chosen  field  of  literature  his 
name  and  his  rank  as  a  man  of  letters  would  be  much  higher 
to-day. 

Little  can  be  said  of  Simms's  early  years.  At  Charleston, 
South  Carolina,  on  April  17,  1806,  he  first  opened  his  eyes 
upon  the  world,  being  the  second  of  three  children,  the 
other  two  of  whom  died  in  infancy.  His  father,  for  whom 
Gilmore  was  named,  was  a  native  Irishman,  having  emigrated 
to  Charleston  shortly  after  the  Revolution.  His  mother 
prior  to  her  marriage  was  a  Miss  Harriet  Ann  Augusta 
Singleton,  a  member  of  an  obscure  but  respectable  family  that 
had  moved  from  Virginia  to  Carolina  sometime  before  the 
Revolution. 

At  the  early  age  of  two  years  Gilmore  was  left  motherless ; 
and  his  father  in  distress  of  mind  mounted  his  horse  and 
went  West  to  live  among  the  Indians,  leaving  his  son  to  the 
protection  and  care  of  the  boy's  grandmother,  who  thus  came 
to  exercise  a  strong  imaginative  influence  on  the  mind  of  the 
infant  author-to-be.  She  was  a  shrewd  woman,  we  are  told, 
and  had  a  generous  fund  of  stories,  true  and  invented,  his- 
torical and  superstitious,  which  she  never  tired  of  telling  nor 
the  boy  of  hearing.  She  had  lived  through  the  Revolutionary 
War,  and  she  knew  what  it  was  to  descend  in  an  open  row- 
boat,  with  mufrTed  oars,  the  Cooper  River,  and  to  pass  "at 
midnight  through  the  midst  of  a  fearful  cannonade,  [and] 
through  the  thronging  barges  of  the  British."  Likewise  she 
had  lived  through  the  early  pioneer  days  among  the  Indians, 
and  her  weird  and  ghastly  tales  of  war  and  superstition 


viii  INTRODUCTION. 

must  not  have  been  untouched  by  those  days  of  strife  and 
bloodshed. 

At  any  rate,  under  such  an  influence  the  boy  grew,  and 
at  the  age  of  six  was  put  to  school  under  the  usual  incom- 
petent masters  that  the  unsettled  conditions  of  the  country 
at  that  time  offered.    Of  his  school  life  Simms  himself  says : 

With  the  exception  of  one  [of  the  schools]  I  was  an  example 
of  their  utter  worthlessness.  They  taught  me  little  or  nothing. 
The  teachers  were  generally  worthless  in  morals,  and  as  igno- 
rant as  worthless.  One  old  Irishman,  during  one  year,  taught  me 
to  spell,  read  tolerably,  and  write  a  pretty  good  hand.  He  was 
the  best,  and  he  knew  little.  Not  one  of  them  could  teach  me 
arithmetic.  There  was  no  supervision  of  the  masters  or  commis- 
sioners worth  a  doit.  The  teachers,  in  some  cases,  never  came 
to  the  school  for  three  days  in  the  week.  We  boys  then  thought 
these  the  best.  When  they  did  come,  they  were  in  a  hurry  to 
get  away.  The  boys  did  nothing.  Never  attempted  to  work 
out  a  rule  in  arithmetic,  but  put  false  proofs  which  were  never 
discovered.  The  master  had  a  key,  and  was  satisfied  with  the 
figures  in  the  proof.  He  knew  as  little  as  the  boys.  The  whole 
system,  when  I  was  a  boy,  was  worthless  and  scoundrelly. 

Thus,  when  we  come  to  consider  that  Simms  had  only  six 
years  of  such  training  as  this,  that  when  only  about  twelve 
or  thirteen  years  of  age  he  was  compelled  to  leave  school  and 
become  an  apprentice  to  a  druggist,  we  may  well  wonder  at 
the  native  genius  which  enabled  the  man  later  to  accomplish 
so  much  in  literature. 

All  was  not  genius,  however ;  he  worked  earnestly  for  every- 
thing he  ever  got.  Even  before  he  left  school,  he  had  begun 
reading  widely.  "I  used  to  glow  and  shiver  in  turn  over 
'The  Pilgrim's  Progress,' "  he  once  told  his  friend,  Paul 
Hayne ;  "  and  Moses's  adventures,  in  'The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,' 
threw  me  into  paroxysms  of  laughter."  And  after  his 
apprenticeship  to  the  Charleston  druggist,  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  go  home  in  the  evenings  and  read  and  study  into 
the  small  hours  of  the  night.  Such  study  was  laudable  in 
itself,  but  when  it  was  carried  on  under  the  difficulties  under 
which  he  labored,  it  became  all  the  more  praiseworthy.  Dur- 
ing the  day,  he  tells  us,  little  opportunity  was  given  him 
either  to  write  or  to  read  poetry,  and  his  grandmother  was 
opposed  to  late  hours  and  a  consequent  waste  of  candles.    So 


INTRODUCTION.  ix 

a  species  of  deception  had  to  be  resorted  to:  he  was  com- 
pelled to  carry  to  his  little  room  a  box  large  enough  for  him  to 
crouch  inside.  Then  he  put  his  candle  inside  the  box,  and, 
with  the  open  side  turned  away  from  the  door  of  his  room, 
he  could  read  and  study  as  long  as  his  strength  would  permit. 
His  grandmother  could  see  no  light  shining  through  the 
-crevices  in  the  door  and  would  retire  in  peace.  Thus  the  boy 
labored ;  thus  he  got  his  education  and  training ;  and  thus  he 
at  length  achieved  success  in  the  world. 

When  Gilmore  was  eighteen,  his  apprenticeship  to  the  drug- 
gist probably  ceased,  and  he  began  the  study  of  law  in  the 
office  of  his  friend,  Charles  E.  Carroll,  where  he  divided  his 
time  between  reading  Blackstone  and  writing  verses  in 
imitation  of  Byron  and  Scott.  About  this  time,  too,  though 
possibly  a  bit  later,  he  was  given  an  opportunity  to  visit  his 
father  in  Mississippi.  This  visit  is  noteworthy  for  two  rea- 
sons: first,  because  the  journey  that  he  took  was  a  perilous 
one  by  boat,  during  the  course  of  which  the  crew  mutinied; 
and,  second,  because  the  extended  trip  gave  him  an  oppor- 
tunity to  observe  at  first-hand  the  backwoods  manners  and 
hospitality  of  the  people  by  whom  he  was  entertained.  Dur- 
ing the  trip,  moreover,  he  was  enabled  to  visit  both  the 
Creek  and  the  Cherokee  tribes  of  Indians  and  to  learn  some- 
thing of  their  habits  and  customs.  The  mystery  and  the 
simplicity  of  the  forest  life  here  must  have  impressed  him 
deeply;  for  he  wrote  poems  on  Indian  subjects  at  the  time, 
and  twenty  years  later  in  an  address  before  the  students  of 
the  University  of  Alabama  he  recalled  that  he  had  once  ridden 
over  that  section  "when  the  silence  of  the  primeval  forest  was 
broken  only  by  the  fall  of  his  horse's  feet  and  the  howl  of 
the  distant  wolf/'  And  it  may  have  been  on  this  journey 
that  he  got  much  of  the  material  that  his  fertile  brain  later 
used  in  his  border  romances  and  in  the  composition  of  The 
Yemassee. 

In  1825,  shortly  after  his  return,  Simms  ventured  into 
print  with  a  Monody  on  General  Charles  Cotesworth  Finckney, 
who  had  recently  died.  The  next  year,  October  19th,  he  was 
married  to  Miss  Anna  Malcolm  Giles,  daughter  of  a  clerk 
in  the  employ  of  the  city  of  Charleston.  The  following  year 
he  brought  out  a  small  volume  of  verse  entitled  Lyrical  and 


x  INTRODUCTION. 

Other  Poems,  which,  like  the  preceding  Monody,  possessed 
little  value.  The  truth  is,  Simms  was  not  a  poet.  Yet  he 
never  knew  it,  and  to  the  day  of  his  death  he  continued  writ- 
ing verse  and  feeling  himself  cruelly  wronged  by  a  genera- 
tion unappreciative  of  poetry. 

In  1827,  on  his  twenty-first  birthday,  Simms  was  admitted 
to  the  bar;  and  in  November  of  the  same  year  his  first  child 
was  born.  This  new  addition  to  the  family  brought  added 
responsibility  upon  him  and  may  account  for  his  discon- 
tinuance of  the  practice  of  law,  which  had  yielded  him  dur- 
ing his  first  and  only  year  the  small  sum  of  six  hundred  dol- 
lars. At  any  rate,  he  soon  determined  to  rely  for  a  living 
solely  on  the  resources  of  his  pen;  and  in  June,  1828,  he 
issued  with  James  W.  Simmons  a  prospectus  for  a  new 
monthly  magazine,  The  Tablet,  which  died  at  the  end  of  one 
year.  This  venture  of  Simms's  into  journalism  for  a  living 
is  noteworthy,  however,  because  it  was  the  first  of  numerous 
journalistic  ventures  on  his  part,  because  he  was  not  dis- 
couraged by  this  early  failure,  and  because  it  made  him  the 
first  man  in  the  South  to  rely  entirely  on  literature  for 
support. 

In  March,  1830,  Simms  lost  his  father  in  Mississippi,  and 
in  February,  1832,  his  wife.  The  strain  resulting  from  the 
latter's  death,  together  with  the  feeling  of  broken  ties  haunt- 
ing him  in  the  old  places  where  he  had  lived  for  the  past 
five  years  with  his  bride,  was  too  great  for  him,  and  he 
resolved  to  leave  the  state.  There  were  other  reasons  for  this 
action,  too,  no  doubt.  Charleston  was  then,  even  more  so 
than  now,  a  conservative,  aristocratic,  ancestor-worshiping 
town,  and  Simms  had  ever  received  but  faint  recognition 
there.  He  had  been  ostracized  socially  on  account  of  his 
humble  parentage,  and  his  efforts  along  literary  and  cultural 
lines  had  never  received  in  Charleston,  or  South  Carolina  for 
that  matter,  the  recognition  given  them  outside  the  state. 
Why  then  should  he  remain  now  in  a  city  and  state,  not 
hostile,  but  absolutely  unconcerned  about  him  and  his 
literary  efforts? 

So,  late  in  1832,  we  find  him  in  Hingham,  Massachusetts, 
where  he  published  what  is  probably  his  most  important 
poem,  Atalantis,  A  Story  of  the  Sea.    While  here  it  may  be 


INTBODUCTION".  xi 

noted,  too,  he  met  "William  Cullen  Bryant,  who,  during  the 
former's  lifetime,  remained  ever  his  staunch  friend  and  sup- 
porter. Simms's  stay  in  the  Xorth  was  destined  to  be  very 
brief,  however.  The  old  longings  for  home  soon  came  over 
him,  and  the  following  year  he  returned  to  South  Carolina. 

In  1833  Simms  published  his  first  prose  work  of  conse- 
quence, Martin  Faber,  a  story  after  the  manner  of  Godwin 
and  Brockden  Brown,  which,  however,  showed  that  its  author 
possessed  considerable  narrative  power.  The  book  met  with 
immediate  success,  the  entire  first  edition  being  sold  out  in 
four  days.  This  was  followed  the  next  year  by  Guy  Rivers, 
the  first  of  his  "border  romances,"  which  was  also  successful, 
enjoying  the  unusual  run  of  three  editions  in  a  little  over  a 
year. 

Seven  months  later,  in  the  mid-spring  of  1835,  appeared 
his  first  historical  romance,  The  Yemassee,  probably  the  most 
popular  book  he  ever  wrote.  The  first  edition,  although 
double  that  of  any  of  his  previous  works,  was  sold  out  in 
three  days,  and  before  the  end  of  the  year  the  book  had  equaled 
Guy  Rivers  in  the  number  of  copies  sold  and  was  in  its  third 
edition.  This  story,  while  lacking  in  many  essential  points 
of  greatness,  is  perhaps  Simms's  nearest  approach  to  artistic 
success.  It  is  a  bold,  spirited  romance,  full  of  invention  and 
of  narrative  power,  and  should  be  ranked  among  the  best 
of  American  colonial  romances. 

Yet  the  unprejudiced  reader  must  admit  that  The  Yemassee 
is  not  a  masterpiece  of  fiction.  In  the  first  place,  while 
replete  with  originality  in  individual  instances,  the  plan  of 
the  story  as  a  whole  is  not  original.  One  cannot  but  see  that 
Simms  is  here  following  afar  off  in  the  footsteps  of  his 
masters,  Cooper  and  Scott.  For  example,  as  one  reads  the 
account  of  the  attack  on  the  blockhouse,  or  of  Harrison's 
adventures  in  Pocota-ligo.  or  of  Macnamara's  torture  by  the 
allied  tribes,  he  is  reminded  constantly  of  similar  situations  in 
The  Last  of  the  Mohicans.  And  when  Parson  Matthews  in  his 
hand-to-hand  encounter  with  the  Indians  invokes  the  aid 
of  all  the  biblical  saints  and  patriarchs  in  his  defense,  one 
can  hear  anew  the  prayers  of  Isaac  in  Ivanhoe  to  Father 
Abraham  and  Father  Jacob.    And  so  these  are  but  a  few  of 


xii  INTRODUCTION. 

« 

many  resemblances  between  The  Yemassee  and  the  works  of 
Cooper  and  Scott. 

On  the  other  hand,  Simms  was  never  the  slightest  bit 
servile  in  his  imitations.  His  resemblances  are  influences, 
nothing  more.  He  follows  in  the  wake  of  literary  success 
usually — sometimes  he  is  in  the  forefront, — but  he  is  always 
independent.  The  well-beloved  Sanutee  and  his  fellow  tribes- 
men may  owe  their  original  conception  to  Chingachgook  and 
the  Delawares,  but  they  are  more  real,  less  idealistic,  than 
Cooper's  Indians;  and  little  Matiwan  cannot  be  surpassed  by 
any  Indian  woman  in  American  fiction. 

To  stop  here  in  our  comparison,  however,  were  unfair  in 
the  extreme  to  Simms;  for  The  Yemassee,  in  its  incidents, 
in  the  wealth  of  its  individual  inventions,  in  its  love  of  nature, 
and  in  the  power  of  its  narrative,  is  essentially  Simms's  own. 
And  as  such  it  is  to  be  praised.  The  love  affairs  of  Bess 
Matthews  and  Gabriel  Harrison  may  be  tedious  at  times,  but 
the  realness  and  the  luxurious  setting  of  their  forest  meetings, 
with  the  lurk  of  the  deadly  serpent  in  their  midst,  more 
than  counterbalances  any  temporary  tedium  in  the  progress 
of  the  narrative.  Likewise,  a  certain  lack  of  self-restraint 
on  the  author's  part  may  be  felt  in  the  perils  which  he  allows 
the  fair  heroine  of  the  story  to  undergo  before  happiness  at 
last  comes,  as  in  her  final  rescue  from  the  arms  of  the  ruf- 
fian Chorley,  yet  the  bold,  spirited  rush  of  the  narrative 
hurries  most  of  us  along  with  such  rapid  pace  that  we  lack 
sufficient  time  to  note  the  improbability  of  such  incidents. 
But  in  such  accounts  as  the  death  of  Occonestoga  in  chapter 
twenty-five,  or  the  charming  of  Bess  Matthews  by  the  rattle- 
snake, or  in  the  defense  of  the  blockhouse  by  Granger's 
wife  and  Grayson's  "Green  Jackets,"  with  the  false,  shrill 
cry  of  the  whippoorwill  breaking  the  silence  of  the  forest  on 
every  hand,  the  book  needs  no  defense.  The  concentration  of 
power  and  interest  in  such  situations  as  these  is  unsurpassed 
in  American  fiction. 

In  November  of  the  year  following  the  appearance  of  The 
Yemassee,  Simms  was  again  married,  this  time  to  Miss 
Chevillette  Roach,  the  only  daughter  of  Nash  Roach,  a 
widower  and  wealthy  planter  of  Barnwell  County,  South 
Carolina.     Here  in  the  large  and  comfortable  home  known 


INTRODUCTION,  xiii 

as  ''Woodlands,"  Simms  settled  with  his  wife  and  father-in- 
law,  migrating  for  a  few  months  during  each  year  to  Charles- 
ton, where  he  seemed  to  find  life  less  monotonous  and  where 
he  himself  owned  a  house.  At  "Woodlands/'  however,  he 
was  enabled  to  do  some  of  the  best  work  of  his  literary  career. 
The  Partisan  (1835),  the  first  of  a  trilogy  of  Revolutionary 
romances  comprising  Mellichampe  (183G)  and  Katherine 
Walton  (1851),  was  completed  here,  even  before  his  mar- 
riage, and  was  followed  at  more  or  less  widely  varying 
intervals  by  The  Wigwam  and  Cabin  (1845-6),  Woodcraft 
(1852),  The  Foray ers  (1855),  Eutaw  (1856),  and  The 
Cassique  of  Kiawah  (1859). 

Any  attempt  even  to  catalogue  Simms's  works  in  full  is 
out  of  the  question  here;  they  are  monotonously  numerous. 
Thirty  pages  daily,  we  are  told,  he  was  accustomed  to  write 
in  his  study  at  "Woodlands,"  usually  running  his  allotted 
quota  of  pages  off  between  breakfast  and  dinner.  No  won- 
der that  he  was  able  to  produce  during  his  lifetime  some 
sixty-five  or  seventy  volumes  of  verse,  fiction,  history,  biog- 
raphy, criticism,  etc.  Likewise,  it  would  be  equally  useless  to 
attempt  to  mention  the  numerous  journalistic  enterprises 
with  which  he  was  connected  in  various  ways  during  his 
unusually  active  career.  From  The  Tablet  in  1828  to  the 
Charleston  Courier  in  1866  he  was  concerned  in  an  editorial 
way  with  ten  different  magazines  and  newspapers,  the  most 
important  of  which  was  probably  the  Southern  Quarterly 
Review.  None  of  these,  however,  was  destined  to  live  or  to 
add  either  fame  or  money  to  his  credit,  and  their  mention 
would  be  of  worth  only  in  indicating  the  numerous  enter- 
prises of  the  kind  upon  which  he  embarked  during  the  forty- 
two  years  of  his  literary  career. 

The  later  years  of  Simms's  life,  in  spite  of  his  almost 
incorrigible  optimism,  were  not  altogether  happy.  Indeed, 
they  were  in  many  respects  years  of  genuine,  tragic  pathos; 
for,  though  he  was  sent  by  his  friends  to  the  State  legisla- 
ture in  1844,  and  though  his  works  were  received  and  widely 
read  outside  of  South  Carolina,  he  was  never  admitted  to  that 
inner  coterie  of  Charlestonian  society  which  he  so  much 
craved,  and  he  never  received  that  help  and  sympathy  and  fel- 
lowship from  them  to  which  he  knew  he  was  entitled  and  which 


xiv  IXTKODUCTION. 

he  so  much  needed  in  his  struggle  for  literary  supremacy. 
"All  that  I  have  [done],"  he  said  in  1858,  "has  been  poured 
to  waste  in  Charleston,  which  has  never  smiled  on  any  of  my 
labors,  which  has  steadily  ignored  my  claims,  which  has  dis- 
paraged me  to  the  last,  has  been  the  last  place  to  give  me  its 
adhesion,  to  which  I  owe  no  favor,  having  never  received  an 
office,  or  a  compliment,  or  a  dollar  at  her  hands ;  and,  with  the 
exception  of  some  dozen  of  her  citizens,  who  have  been  kind 
to  me,  and  some  scores  of  her  young  men,  who  have  honored 
me  with  a  loving  sympathy  and  something  like  reverence, 
which  has  always  treated  me  rather  as  a  public  enemy,  to  be 
sneered  at,  than  as  a  dutiful  son  doing  her  honor  .  .  . 
Great  God !  what  is  the  sort  of  slavery  which  brings  me 
hither !  » 

In  addition,  his  beautiful  home  at  "Woodlands"  was  twiced 
burned,  the  first  time  in  1862,  the  second  by  Sherman's  army 
in  1865.  In  the  second  fire  his  entire  library  was  destroyed; 
not  a  volume  was  saved.  Moreover,  in  1863  he  lost  his  wife; 
and  of  fifteen  children  born  to  him,  two  by  his  first  wife  and 
thirteen  by  his  second,  he  had  buried  six  before  the  beginning 
of  the  War.  And,  what  must  have  been  almost  as  painful, 
when  the  War  between  the  States  closed,  leaving  him  in 
poverty  and  his  motherless  children  in  need,  he  found  that 
he  could  no  longer  command  the  reading  public  that  had 
once  been  his.  The  taste  of  his  old-time  readers  had  changed, 
and  he  was  too  old  to  adapt  himself  to  the  new  demands  of  a 
fickle  reading  public. 

The  end  came  in  1870  from  overwork.  In  1869  he  had 
made  a  contract  with  his  publishers  for  three  stories  to 
appear  serially  during  1870;  but  since  he  had  only  one  on 
hand  and  that  not  completed,  he  was  compelled  to  work  with 
an  energy  that  had  once  been  his,  but  which  was  gone  now. 
For  nearly  nine  months  he  wrote,  with  a  respite  of  only  two 
half-holidays  during  the  entire  period,  composing  during  that 
time  something  like  three  thousand  pages  of  manuscript. 
But  the  strain  on  him  was  too  great.  On  June  6,  1870,  his 
final  breakdown  came,  and  five  days  later,  in  full  possession 
of  his  mental  faculties  to  the  last,  he  died  peacefully  at  the 
home  of  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Edward  Koach,  in  Charleston. 

Simms,  it  may  be  said  in  conclusion,  deserves  to  be  known/ 


INTRODUCTION.  xv 

And  it  is  to  be  believed  that  when  the  true  history  of  Ameri- 
can literature  is  written,  he  will  then  be  recognized,  not  as 
a  novelist  of  the  first  rank  by  any  means,  but  as  one  well  along 
in  the  second.  His  want  of  training,  his  lack  of  self-repres- 
sion, and  his  attempts  in  so  many  fields  of  literature  kept 
him  from  producing  a  great  work  in  any  one  field  and  made 
many  of  his  writings  of  value  only  to  the  people  of  his  own 
day.  His  works  in  journalism,  in  criticism,  in  the  drama,  in 
poetry,  and  in  the  numerous  other  fields  that  he  attempted, 
have  already  served  their  day  and  will  soon  be  forgotten. 
But  it  is  to  be  believed  that  some  day  his  colonial  and 
Revolutionary  romances,  his  only  works  of  permanent  value, 
will  come  into  their  own  and  their  author  be  recosrnized  and 
known  as  one  of  the  strongest  of  our  early  romanticists. 
Already  some  interest  has  been  taken  in  him  since  his  death: 
a  strong  biography  of  his  life,  to  which  the  present  editor 
owes  most  of  his  information,  has  been  written  in  the  Ameri- 
can Men  of  Letters  Series  by  Professor  Trent  of  Columbia 
University;  and  even  Charleston  in  1879,  on  the  ninth  anni- 
versary of  his  death,  relented  so  far  as  to  unveil  on  her  fam- 
ous Battery  a  bust  to  his  memory. 


THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  I. 


The  district  of  Beaufort,  lying  along  the  Atlantic  coast  in 
the  State  of  South  Carolina,  is  especially  commended  to  the 
regards  of  the  antiquarian  as  the  region  first  distinguished  in 
the  history  of  the  United  States  by  an  European  settlement.* 
Here  a  colony  of  French  Huguenots  was  established  in  1562, 
under  the  auspices  of  the  celebrated  Gaspard  de  Coligni, 
admiral  of  France,  who,  in  the  reign  of  Charles  IX.,  con- 
ceived the  necessity  of  such  a  settlement,  with  the  hope  of 
securing  a  sanctuary  for  French  protestants,  when  they  should 
be  compelled,  as  he  foresaw  they  soon  would,  by  the  anti- 
religious  persecutions  of  the  time,  to  fly  from  their  native 
into  foreign  regions.  This  settlement,  however,  proved 
unsuccessful;  and  the  events  which  history  records  of  the 
subsequent  efforts  of  the  French  to  establish  colonies  in  the 
same  neighborhood,  while  of  unquestionable  authority,  have 
all  the  charm  of  the  most  delightful  romance. 

It  was  not  till  an  hundred  years  after,  that  the  same  spot 
was  temporarily  settled  by  the  English  under  Sayle,  who 
became  the  first  governor,  as  he  was  the  first  permanent 
founder  of  the  settlement.  The  situation  was  exposed,  how- 
ever,, to  the  incursions  of  the  Spaniards,  who,  in  the  mean- 

*  We  are  speaking  now  of  authentic  history  only.  We  are  not 
ignorant  of  the  claim  urged  on  behalf  of  the  Northmen  to  dis- 
covery along  the  very  same  region,  and  to  their  assertion  of  the 
existence  here  of  a  white  people,  fully  five  hundred  years  before 
this  period; — an  assertion  which  brings  us  back  to  the  tradition 
of  Madoc  and  his  Welshmen;  the  report  of  the  Northmen  adding 
further,  that  the  language  spoken  was  cognate  with  that  of  the 
Irish,  with  which  they  were  familiar.  For  this  curious  history, 
see  the  recently  published  Antiquitates  Americana,  under  the 
editorship  of  Professor  Rafn,  of  Copenhagen  [Simms's  Note}. 


2  THE  YEMASSEE. 

while,  had  possessed  themselves  of  Florida,  and  for  a  long 
time  after  continued  to  harass  and  prevent  colonization  in 
this  quarter.  But  perseverance  at  length  triumphed  over  all 
these  difficulties,  and  though  Sayle,  for  further  security,  in 
the  infancy  of  his  settlement,  had  removed  to  the  banks  of 
the  Ashley,  other  adventurers,  by  little  and  little,  contrived 
to  occupy  the  ground  he  had  left,  and  in  the  year  1700,  the 
birth  of  a  white  native  child  is  recorded. 

From  the  earliest  period  of  our  acquaintance  with  the  coun- 
try of  which  we  speak,  it  was  in  the  possession  of  a  powerful 
and  gallant  race,  and  their  tributary  tribes,  known  by  the 
general  name  of  Yemassees.  Not  so  numerous,  perhaps,  as 
many  of  the  neighbouring  nations,  they  nevertheless  com- 
manded the  respectful  consideration  of  all.  In  valour  they 
made  up  for  any  deficiencies  of  number,  and  proved  them- 
selves not  only  sufficiently  strong  to  hold  out  defiance  to 
invasion,  but  were  always  ready  to  anticipate  assault.  Their 
promptness  and  valour  in  the  field  furnished  their  best 
securities  against  attack,  while  their  forward  courage,  elastic 
temper,  and  excellent  skill  in  the  rude  condition  of  their 
warfare,  enabled  them  to  subject  to  their  dominion  most  of 
the  tribes  around  them,  many  of  which  were  equally  numerous 
with  their  own.  Like  the  Romans,  in  this  way  they  strength- 
ened their  own  powers  by  a  wise  incorporation  of  the  con- 
quered with  the  conquerors ;  and  under  the-  several  names  of 
Huspahs,  Coosaws,  Combahees,  Stonoees,  and  Sewees,  the 
greater  strength  of  the  Yemassees  contrived  to  command  so 
many  dependants,  prompted  by  their  movements,  and  almost 
entirely  under  their  dictation.  Thus  strengthened,  the  recog- 
nition of  their  power  extended  into  the  remote  interior,  and 
they  formed  one  of  the  twenty-eight  aboriginal  nations  among 
which,  at  its  first  settlement  by  the  English,  the  province  of 
Carolina   was   divided. 

A  feeble  colony  of  adventurers  from  a  distant  world  had 
taken  up  its  abode  alongside  of  them.  The  weaknesses  of  the 
intruder  were,  at  first,  his  only  but  sufficient  protection  with 
the  unsophisticated  savage.  The  white  man  had  his  lands 
assigned  him,  and  he  trenched  his  furrows  to  receive  the  grain 
on  the  banks  of  Indian  waters.  The  wild  man  looked  on  the 
humiliating  labour,  wondering  as  he  did  so,  but  without  fear, 


THE  YEMASSEE.  3 

and  never  dreaming  for  a  moment  of  his  own  approaching 
subjection.  Meanwhile,  the  adventurers  grew  daily  more 
numerous,  for  their  friends  and  relatives  soon  followed  them 
across  the  ocean.  They,  too,  had  lands  assigned  them  in 
turn,  by  the  improvident  savage;  and  increasing  intimacies, 
with  uninterrupted  security,  day  by  day,  won  the  former  still 
more  deeply  into  the  bosom  of  the  forests,  and  more  imme- 
diately in  connexion  with  their  wild  possessors;  until,  at 
length,  we  behold  the  log-house  of  the  white  man,  rising  up 
amid  the  thinned  clump  of  woodland  foliage,  within  hailing 
distance  of  the  squat,  clay  hovel  of  the  savage.  Sometimes 
their  smokes  even  united;  and  now  and  then  the  two,  the 
"European  and  his  dusky  guide,"  might  be  seen,  pursuing, 
side  by  side  and  with  the  same  dog,  upon  the  cold  track  of 
the  affrighted  deer  or  the  yet  more  timorous  turkey. 

Let  us  go  back  an  hundred  years,  and  more  vividly  recall 
this  picture.  In  1715,  the  Yemassees  were  in  all  their  glory. 
They  were  politic  and  brave — a  generous  and  gallant  race. 
The  whites  had  been  welcomed  at  their  first  coming  to  their 
woods,  and  hospitably  entertained;  and  gradually  lost  all  their 
apprehensions,  from  the  gentleness  and  forbearance  of  the 
red  men.  The  confidence  of  the  whites  grew  with  the 
immunities  they  enjoyed,  and  in  process  of  time  they  came  to 
regard  their  hosts  in  the  character  of  allies  and  to  employ 
them  as  auxiliaries.  In  this  character,  never  suspecting  their 
danger  from  the  uses  to  which  they  were  put,  and  gladly 
obeying  a  passion  to  the  exclusion  of  a  policy,  the  Yemassees 
had  taken  up  arms  with  the  Carolinians  against  the  Spaniards, 
who,  from  St.  Augustine,  perpetually  harassed  the  settle- 
ments. Until  this  period  the  Yemassees  had  never  been 
troubled  by  that  worst  tyranny  of  all.  the  consciousness  of 
their  inferiority  to  a  power  of  which  they,  at  length,  grew 
jealous.  Lord  Craven,  the  governor  and  palatine  of  Carolina, 
had  done  much,  in  a  little  time,  by  the  success  of  his  arms 
over  the  neighbouring  tribes,  and  the  admirable  policy  which 
distinguished  his  government,  to  impress  this  feeling  of  sus- 
picion upon  the  minds  of  the  Yemassees.  Their  aid,  finally, 
had  ceased  to  be  necessary  to  the  Carolinians.  They  were  no 
longer  sought  or  solicited.  The  presents  became  fewer, 
the  borderers  grew  bolder  and  more  incursive,  and  new  ter- 


4  THE  YEMASSEE. 

ritory,  daily  acquired  by  the  colonists  in  some  way  or  other; 
drove  them  back  for  hunting-grounds  upon  the  upper  waters 
of  the  Edistoh  and  Isundiga.*  Their  chiefs  began  to  show 
signs  of  discontent,  if  not  of  disaffection,  and  the  great  mass 
of  their  people  assumed  a  sullenness  of  habit  and  demeanour, 
which  had  never  marked  their  conduct  before.  They  looked, 
with  a  feeling  of  aversion  which  they  yet  strove  to  conceal, 
upon  the  approach  of  the  white  man  on  every  side.  The 
thick  groves  disappeared,  the  clear  skies  grew  turbid  with  the 
dense  smokes  rolling  up  in  solid  masses  from  the  burning 
herbage.  Hamlets  grew  into  existence,  as  it  were  by  magic, 
under  their  very  eyes  and  in  sight  of  their  own  towns,  for  the 
shelter  of  a  different  people;  and  at  length,  a  common  senti- 
ment, not  yet  embodied  perhaps  by  its  open  expression,  even 
among  themselves,  prompted  the  Yemassees  in  a  desire  to 
arrest  the  progress  of  a  race  with  which  they  could  never 
hope  to  acquire  any  real  or  lasting  affinity.  Another  and  a 
stronger  ground  for  jealous  dislike  arose  necessarily  in  their 
minds  with  the  gradual  approach  of  that  consciousness  of 
their  inferiority  which,  while  the  colony  was  dependent  and' 
weak,  they  had  not  so  readily  perceived.  But,  when  they  saw 
with  what  facility  the  new  comers  could  convert  even  the  ele- 
ments, not  less  than  themselves,  into  slaves  and  agents,  under 
the  guidance  of  the  strong  will  and  the  overseeing  judgment, 
the  gloom  of  their  habit  swelled  into  ferocity,  and  their 
minds  were  busied  with  those  subtle  schemes  and  stratagems 
with  which,  in  his  nakedness,  the  savage  usually  seeks  to 
neutralize  the  superiority  of  European  armour. 

The  Carolinians  were  now  in  possession  of  the  entire  sea- 
coast,  with  a  trifling  exception,  which  forms  the  Atlantic 
boundary  of  Beaufort  and  Charleston  districts.  They  had 
but  few,  and  those  small  and  scattered,  interior  settlements. 
A  few  miles  from  the  seashore,  and  the  Indian  lands  generally 
girdled  them  in,  still  in  the  possession  as  in  the  right  of  the 
aborigines.  But  few  treaties  had  yet  been  effected  for  the  pur- 
chase of  territory  fairly  out  of  sight  of  the  sea ;  those ' 
tracts  only  excepted  which  formed  the  borders  of  such  rivers, 

*  Such  is  the  beautiful  name  by  which  the  Yemassees  knew  the 
Savannah  river   [Simms's  Note], 


THE  YEMASSEE.  5 

as,  emptying  into  the  ocean  and  navigable  to  small  vessels, 
afforded  a  ready  chance  of  escape  to  the  coast  in  the  event 
of  any  sudden  necessity.  In  this  way,  the  whites  had  settled 
along  the  banks  of  the  Keawa,  the  Etiwan,  the  Combahee, 
the  Coosaw,  the  Pocota-ligo,  and  other  contiguous  rivers; 
dwelling  generally  in  small  communities  of  five,  seven,  or 
ten  families ;  seldom  of  more,  and  these  taking  care  that  the 
distance  should  be  slight  between  them.  Sometimes,  indeed, 
an  individual  adventurer  more  fearless  than  the  rest,  drove 
his  stakes,  and  took  up  his  abode  alone,  or  with  a  single 
family,  in  some  boundless  contiguity  of  shade,  several  miles 
from  his  own  people,  and  over  against  his  roving  neighbour ; 
pursuing,  in  many  cases,  the  same  errant  life,  adopting  many 
of  his  savage  habits,  and  this,  too,  without  risking  much,^  if 
anything,  in  the  general  opinion.  For  a  long  season,  so  pacific 
had  been  the  temper  of  the  Yemassees  towards  the  Carolinians, 
that  the  latter  had  finally  become  regardless  of  that  neces- 
sary caution  which  bolts  a  door  and  keeps  a  watch-dog. 

On  the  waters  of  the  Pocota-ligo,*  or  Little  Wood  river, 
this  was  more  particularly  the  habit  of  the  settlement.  This 
is  a  small  stream,  about  twenty-five  miles  long,  which  empties 
itself  into,  and  forms  one  of  the  tributaries  of,  that  singular 
estuary  called  Broad  river ;  and  thus,  in  common  with  a  dozen 
other  streams  of  similar  size,  contributes  to  the  formation  of 
the  beautiful  harbour  of  Beaufort,  which,  with  a  happy 
propriety,  the  French  denominated  Port  Royal.  Leaving  the 
yet  small  but  improving  village  of  the  Carolinians  at  Beau- 
fort, we  ascend  the  Pocota-ligo,  and  still,  at  intervals,  their 
dwellings  present  themselves  to  our  eye  occasionally  on  one 
side  or  the  other.  The  banks,  generally  edged  with  swamp, 
and  fringed  with  its  dark  peculiar  growth,  possess  few  attrac- 
tions, and  the  occasional  cottage  serves  greatly  to  relieve  a 
picture,  wanting  certainly,  not  less  in  moral  association  than 
in  the  charm  of  landscape.     At  one  spot  we  encounter  the 

*  The  Indian  pronunciation  of  their  proper  names  is  eminently 
musical;  we  usually  spoil  them.  This  name  is  preserved  in  Caro- 
lina, but  it  wants  the  euphony  and  force  which  the  Indian  tongue 
gave  it.  We  pronounce  it  usually  in  common  quantity.  The 
reader  will  lay  the  emphasis  upon  the  penultimate,  giving  to  the 
i  the  sound  of  e  [Simms's  Note]. 


6  THE  YEMASSEE. 

rude,  clumsy  edifice,  usually  styled  the  Block  House,  built  foi 
temporary  defence,  and  here  and  there  holding  its  garrison  of 
five,  seven,  or  ten  men,  seldom  of  more,  maintained  simply 
as  posts,  not  so  much  with  the  view  to  war  as  of  warning. 
In  its  neighbourhood  we  see  a  cluster  of  log  dwellings,  three 
or  four  in  number,  the  clearings  in  progress,  the  piled  timber 
smoking  or  in  flame,  and  the  stillness  only  broken  by  the  dull, 
heavy  echo  of  the  axe,  biting  into  the  trunk  of  the  tough 
and  long-resisting  pine.  On  the  banks  the  woodman  draws 
up  his  "  dug-out "  or  canoe — a  single  cypress,  hollowed  out 
by  fire  and  the  stone  hatchet; — around  the  fields  the  negro 
piles  slowly  the  worming  and  ungraceful  fence;  while  the 
white  boy  gathers  fuel  for  the  pot  over  which  his  mother  is 
bending  in  the  preparation  of  their  frugal  meal.  A  turn  in 
the  river  unfolds  to  our  sight  a  cottage,  standing  by  itself, 
half  finished,  and  probably  deserted  by  its  capricious  owner. 
Opposite,  on  the  other  bank  of  the  river,  an  Indian  dries  his 
bearskin  in  the  sun,  while  his  infant,  wrapped  in  another, 
and  lashed  down  upon  a  board, — for  security,  not  for  sym- 
metry— hangs  rocking  from  the  tree,  beneath  which  his  mother 
gathers  up  the  earth  with  a  wooden  shovel,  about  the  young 
roots  of  the  tender  corn.  As  we  proceed,  the  traces  of  the 
Indians  thicken.  Xow  a  cot,  and  now  a  hamlet,  grows  up 
before  the  sight,  until,  at  the  very  head  of  the  river,  we  come 
to  the  great  place  of  council  and  most  ancient  town  of  the 
Yemassees — the  town  of  Pocota-ligo.* 

*  It  may  be  well  to  say  that  the  Pocota-ligo  river,  as  here 
described,  would  not  readily  be  recognised  in  that  stream  at 
present.  The  swamps  are  now  reclaimed,  plantations  and  firm 
dwellings  take  the  place  of  the  ancient  groves;  and  the  bald  and 
occasional  tree  only  tells  us  where  the  forests  have  been.  The 
bed  of  the  river  has  been  narrowed  by  numerous  encroachments; 
and,  though  still  navigable  for  sloop  and  schooner,  its  fair  pro- 
portions have  become  greatly  contracted  in  the  silent  but  suc- 
cessful operation  of  the  last  hundred  years  upon  it  [Simms's 
Note]. 


THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  "  great  town  "  of  Pocota-ligo,  as  it  was  called  by  the 
Yemassees,  was  the  largest  in  their  occupation.  Its  preten- 
sions were  few,  however,  beyond  its  population,  to  rank  under 
that  title.  It  was  a  simple  collection  of  scattered  villages, 
united  in  process  of  time  by  the  coalition  with  new  tribes 
and  the  natural  progress  of  increase  among  theim  They  had 
other  large  towns,  however,  not  the  least  among  which  was 
that  of  Coosaw-hatchie,  or  the  "  Eefuge  of  the  Coosaws,"  a 
town  established  by  the  few  of  that  people  who  had  survived 
the  overthrow  of  their  nation  in  a  previous  war  with  the 
Carolinians.  The  "city  of  refuge"  was  a  safe  sanctuary, 
known  among  the  greater  number  of  our  forest  tribes,  and  not 
less  respected  with  them  than  the  same  institutions  among 
the  Hebrews.*  The  refuge  of  the  Coosaws,  therefore,  became 
recognised  as  such  by  all  the  Indians,  and  ranked,  though 
of  inferior  size  and  population,  in  no  respect  below  the  town 
of  Pocota-ligo.  Within  its  limits— that  is  to  say,  within  the 
cordon  of  pines  which  were  blazed  to  mark  its  boundaries,  the 
criminal,  whatever  his  evil  deed,  found  certain  security.  Here 
he  was  sacred.  The  spot  was  tabooed  to  the  pursuer  and  the 
avenger.  The  furies  had  to  remain  without.  The  murderer 
was  safe  so  long  as  lie  kept  within  the  marked  circuit.  But 
he  might  never  venture  forth  with  hope  to  elude  his  enemy. 
The  vengeance  of  the  red  man  never  sleeps,  and  is  never 
satisfied  while  there  is  still  a  victim. 

The  gray  soft  tints  of  an  April  dawn  had  scarcely  yet  begun 
to  lighten  in  the  dim  horizon,  when  the  low  door  of  an  Indian 
lodge  that  lay  almost  entirely  embowered  in  a  forest  thicket, 
less  than  a  mile  from  Pocota-ligo,  might  be  seen  to  open, 

*This  peculiar  institution  among  the  red  men,  and  which 
seems  to  have  existed  among  all  the  tribes,  however  unlike  in 
other  respects,  constitutes  one  of  the  arguments  among  those 
who  insist  upon  the  aborigines  as  sprung  from  the  Israelites, 
and  who  seek  to  find  among  them  the  remnants  of  the  Lost 
Tribes      .        .      .      [Simms's  Note]. 


8  THE  YEMASSEE. 

and  a  tall  warrior  to  emerge  slowly  and  in  silence  from  its 
shelter.     He  was  followed  by  a  dog,  somewhat   handsomer 
than  those  which  usually  claim  the  red  man  for  a  master. 
In  his  gaunt  figure,  the  beast  was  something  of  a  hound ;  but 
he  differed  from  this  animal  in  his  ears,  and  in  the  possession 
of  a  head  exceedingly  short  and  compact.     He  was  probably 
the  cross  of  a  cur  upon  the  beagle.     But  he  was  none  the 
less    serviceable    to    his   present    owner.      The   warrior    was 
armed  after  the  Indian  fashion.    The  long  straight  bow,  with 
a  bunch  of  arrows,  probably  a  dozen  in  number,  suspended  by 
a  thong  of  deerskin,  hung  loosely  upon  his  shoulders.     His 
hatchet  or  tomahawk,  the  light  weapon,  a  substitute  for  the 
stone  hatchet,  introduced  by  the  colonists,  was  slightly  secured 
to  his  waist  by  a  girdle  of  the  same  material.     His  dress, 
which  fitted  tightly  to  his  person,  indicated  a  frequent  inter- 
course with  the  whites ;  since  it  had  been  adapted  to  the  shape 
of  the  wearer,  instead  of  being  worn  loosely  as  the  bearskin 
of  preceding  ages.     Such  an  alteration  in  the  national  cos- 
tume was  found  to  accord  more  readily  with  the  pursuits  of 
the  savage  than  the  flowing  garments  which  he  had  worn 
before.     Until  this  improvement,  he  had  been  compelled,  in 
battle  or  the  chase,  to  throw  aside  the  cumbrous  covering 
which  neutralized  his  swiftness,  and  to  exhibit  himself  in 
that  state  of  perfect  nudity,  which  was  scarcely  less  offensive 
to  the   Indians  than  to   more   civilized  communities.     The 
warrior  before  us  had  been  among  the  first  to  avail  himself 
of  the  arts  of  the  whites  in  the  improvement  of  the  costume ; 
nay,  he  had  taken  other  lessons,  of  even  greater  value,  from 
the  superior  race.     But  of  these  hereafter.     He  wore  a  sort 
of  pantaloons,  the   seams   of  which  had  been  permanently 
secured  with  strings, — unsewed,  but  tied.     They  were  made 
of  tanned  buckskin  of  the  brightest  yellow,  and  of  as  tight 
a  fit  as  the  most  punctilious  dandy  in  modern  times  would 
insist  upon.    An  upper  garment,  also  of  buckskin,  made  with 
more  regard  to  freedom  of  limb,  and  called  by  the  whites  a 
hunting-shirt,  completed  the  dress.     Sometimes,  such  was  its 
make,  the  wearer  threw  it  as  a  sort  of  robe  loosely  across  his 
shoulders ;  secured  thus  with  the  broad  belt,  either  of  woollen 
cloth  or  of  the  same  material,  which  usually  accompanied  the 
garment.    In  the  instance  of  which  we  speak,  it  sat  upon  the 


THE  YEMASSEB.  9 

wearer  pretty  much  after  the  manner  of  a  modern  gentle- 
mams  frock/  Buskins,  or  as  named  among  them,  moccasins, 
also  of  the  skin  of  the  deer,  tanned,  or  in  its  natural  state, 
according  to  caprice  or  emergency,  enclosed  his  feet  tightly ; 
and  without  any  other  garment,  and  entirely  free  from  the 
profusion  of  gaudy  ornaments  so  common  to  the  Indians  m 
modern  times,  and  of  which  they  seem  so  extravagantly  fond, 
the  habit  of  our  new  acquaintance  may  be  held  complete. 
Ornament,  indeed,  of  any  description,  would  certainly  have 
done  little,  if  anything,  towards  the  improvement,  in  appear- 
ance  of  the  individual  before  us.     His  symmetrical  person- 
majestic    port— keen,    falcon    eye— calm,    stern,    deliberate 
expression,  and  elevated  head— would  have  been  enfeebled, 
rather  than  improved  by  the  addition  of  beads  and  gauds  — 
the  tinsel   and  glitter  so  common  to  the  savage  now.     His 
form  was  large  and  justly  proportioned.     Stirring  event  and 
trying  exercise  had  given   it   a   confident,   free,   and  manly 
carriage,  which  the  air  of  decision  about  his  eye  and  mouth 
admirably  tallied  with  and  supported.     He  might  have  been 
about  fifty  years  of  age;  certainly  he  could  not  have  been  le^s; 
though  we  arrive  at  this  conclusion  rather  from  the  strong, 
acute   and  sagacious  expression  of  his  features  than  from  any 
mark' of  feebleness  or  age.    Unlike  the  Yemassees  generally, 
who  seem  to  have  been  of  an  elastic  and  frank  temper,  the 
chief_for  he  is  such— whom  we  describe,  seemed  one,  like 
Cassius,  who  had  learned  to  despise  all  the  light  employs  of 
life,  and  now  only  lived  in  the  constant  meditation  of  deep 
scheme  and  subtle  adventure.     He  moved  and  looked  as  one 
with  a  mind  filled  to  overflowing  with  restless  thought,  whose 
spirit,   crowded  with   impetuous  feelings,  kept  up   constant 
warfare  with  the  more  deliberate  and  controlling  reason. 

Thus  appearing,  and  followed  closely  by  his  dog.  advancing 
from  the  shelter  of  his  wigwam,  he  drew  tightly  the  helt  about 
his  waist,  and  feeling  carefully  the  string  of  his  bow,  as  if 
to  satisfy  himself  that  it  was  unfrayed  and  could  be  depended 
upon,  prepared  to  go  forth  into  the  forest.  He  had  proceeded 
but  a  little  distance,  however,  when,  as  if  suddenly  recollecting 
something  he  had  forgotten,  he  returned  hurriedly  to  the 
dwelling,°and  tapping  lightly  upon  the  door  which  had  been 


10  THE  YEMASSEE. 

closed  upon  his  departure,  spoke  as  follows  to  some  one 
within : — 

"  The  knife,  Matiwan,  the  knife." 

He  was  answered  in  a  moment  by  a  female  voice;  the 
speaker,  an  instant  after,  unclosing  the  door  and  handing  him 
the  instrument  he  required — the  long  knife,  something  like 
the  modern  case-knife,  which,  introduced  by  the  whites}  had 
been  at  once  adopted  by  the  Indians,  as  of  all  other  things 
that  most  necessary  to  the  various  wants  of  the  hunter.  Pro- 
tected, usually,  as  in  the  present  instance,  by  a  leathern 
sheath,  it  seldom  or  never  left  the  person  of  its  owner.  It 
was  somewhat  singular,  indeed,  that  an  Indian  warrior  and 
hunter  should  have  forgotten  so  important  an  implement,  but 
the  fact  will  better  illustrate  the  vexed  and  disquieted  nature 
of  the  chief's  mind,  which  was  greatly  troubled  from  peculiar 
causes,  than  any  act  or  omission  besides.  The  chief  received 
the  knife,  and  placed  it  along  with  the  tomahawk  in  the  belt 
around  his  waist.  He  was  about  to  turn  away,  when  the 
woman,  but  a  glimpse  of  whose  dusky  but  gentle  features  and 
dark  eyes  appeared  through  the  half-closed  door,  addressed 
him  in  a  sentence  of  inquiry,  in  her  own  language,  only 
remarkable  for  the  deep  respectfulness  of  its  tone. 

"  Sanutee, — the  chief — will  he  not  come  back  with  the 
night?" 

"  He  will  come,  Matiwan — he  will  come.  But  the  lodge  of 
the  white  man  is  in  the  old  house  of  the  deer,  and  the  swift- 
foot  steals  off  from  the  clear  water  where  he  once  used  to 
drink.  The  white  man  grinds  his  corn  with  the  waters,  and 
the  deer  is  afraid  of  the  noise.  Sanutee  will  hunt  for  him  in 
the  far  swamps — and  the  night  will  be  dark  before  he  comes 
back  to  Matiwan." 

"  Sanutee — chief,"  she  again  spoke  in  a  faltering  accent, 
as  if  to  prepare  the  way  for  something  else,  of  the  success 
of  which,  in  his  ears,  she  seemed  more  doubtful;  but  she 
paused  without  finishing  the  sentence. 

"  Sanutee  has  ears,  Matiwan — ears  always  for  Matiwan," 
was  the  encouraging  response,  in  a  manner  and  tone  well 
calculated  to  confirm  the  confidence  which  the  language  was 
intended  to  inspire.  Half  faltering  still,  however,  she 
proceeded : — 


THE  YEMASSEE.  11 

"  The  boy,  Sanutee — the  boy,  Occonestoga — " 

He  interrupted  her,  almost  fiercely. 

"  Occonestoga  is  a  dog,  Matiwan ;  he  hunts  the  slaves  of 
the  English  in  the  swamps  for  strong  drink.  He  is  a  slave 
himself — he  has  ears  for  their  lies — he  believes  in  their 
forked  tongues,  and  he  has  two  voices  for  his  own  people.  Let 
him  not  look  into  the  lodge  of  Sanutee.  Is  not  Sanutee  the 
chief  of  the  Yemassee  ?  " 

"  Sanutee  is  the  great  chief.  But  Occonestoga  is  the  son 
of  Sanutee — " 

"  Sanutee  has  no  son — " 

"  But  Matiwan,  Sanutee — " 

"  Matiwan  is  the  woman  who  has  lain  in  the  bosom  of 
Sanutee;  she  has  dressed  the  venison  for  Sanutee  when  the 
great  chiefs  of  the  Cherokee  sat  at  his  board.  Sanutee  hides  it 
not  under  his  tongue.  The  Yemassees  speak  for  Matiwan — 
she  is  the  wife  of  Sanutee." 

"And  mother  of  Occonestoga,"  exclaimed  the  woman 
hurriedly. 

"  No !  Matiwan  must  not  be  the  mother  to  a  dog. 
Occonestoga  goes  with  the  English  to  bite  the  heels  of  the 
Yemassee." 

"  Is  not  Occonestoga  a  chief  of  Yemassee  ? "  asked  the 
woman. 

"  Ha !  look,  Matiwan — the  great  Manne}i;o  has  bad  spirits 
that  hate  him.  They  go  forth  and  they  fear  him,  but  they 
hate  him.     Is  not  Opitchi-Manneyto*  a  bad  spirit?" 

"  Sanutee  says." 

"  But  Opitchi-Manneyto  works  for  the  good  spirit.  He 
works,  but  his  heart  is  bad — he  loves  not  the  work,  but  he 
fears  the  thunder.  Occonestoga  is  the  bad  servant  of  Yemas- 
see :  he  shall  hear  the  thunder,  and  the  lightning  shall  flash  in 
his  path.  Go,  Matiwan,  thou  art  not  the  mother  of  a  dog. 
Go ! — Sanutee  will  come  back  with  the  night." 

The  eye  of  the  woman  was  suffused  and  full  of  appeal,  as 
the  chief  turned  away  sternly,  in  a  manner  which  seemed  to 
forbid  all  other  speech.  She  watched  him  silently  as  he  with- 
drew, until  he  was  hidden  from  sight  by  the  interposing  forest, 

*  The  Yemassee  Evil  Principle    [Simms's   Note]. 


12-  THE  YEMASSEE. 

then  sank  back  sorrowfully  into  the  lodge  to  grieve  over  the 
excesses  of  an  only  son,  exiled  by  a  justly  incensed  father 
from  the  abode  of  which  he  might  have  been  the  blessing  and 
the  pride. 

Sanutee,  in  the  meanwhile,  pursued  his  way  silently 
through  a  narrow  by-path,  leading  to  the  town  of  Pocota-ligo, 
which  he  reached  after  a  brief  period.  The  town  lay  in  as 
much  quiet  as  the  isolated  dwelling  he  had  left.  The  sun 
had  not  yet  arisen,  and  the  scattered  dwellings,  built  low 
and  without  closeness  or  order,  were  partly  obscured  from 
sight  by  the  untrimmed  trees,  almost  in  the  original  forest, 
which  shut  them  in.  A  dog,  not  unlike  his  own,  growled  at 
him  as  he  approached  one  of  the  more  conspicuous  dwellings, 
and  this  was  the  only  sound  disturbing  the  general  silence. 
He  struck  quietly  at  the  door,  and  inquired  briefly — 

"  Ishiagaska — he  will  go  with  Sanutee  ?  " 

A  boy  came  at  the  sound,  and  in  reply,  pointing  to  the 
woods,  gave  him  to  understand — while  one  hand  played  with 
the  handle  of  the  chief's  knife,  which  he  continued  to  draw 
from  and  thrust  back  into  its  sheath,  without  interruption 
from  the  wearer — that  his  father  had  already  gone  forth. 
Without  further  pause  or  inquiry,  Sanutee  turned,  and  tak- 
ing his  way  through  the  body  of  the  town,  soon  gained  the 
river.  Singling  forth  a  canoe,  hollowed  out  from  a  cypress, 
and  which  lay  with  an  hundred  others  drawn  up  upon  the 
miry  bank,  he  succeeded  with  little  exertion  in  launching  it 
forth  into  the  water,  and  taking  his  place  upon  a  seat  fixed 
in  the  centre,  followed  by  his  dog,  with  a  small  scull  or 
flap-oar,  which  he  transferred  with  wonderful  dexterity  from 
one  hand  to  the  other  as  he  desired  to  regulate  his  course, 
he  paddled  himself  directly  across  the  river,  though  then 
somewhat  swollen  and  impetuous  from  a  recent  and  heavy 
freshet.  Carefully  concealing  his  canoe  in  a  clustering 
shelter  of  sedge  and  cane,  which  grew  along  the  banks,  he 
took  his  way,  still  closely  followed  by  his  faithful  dog,  into 
the  bosom  of  a  forest  much  more  dense  than  that  which  he 
had  left,  and  which  promised  a  better  prospect  of  the  game 
which  he  desired. 


THE  YEMASSEB.  13 


CHAPTER  III. 

What  seemed  the  object  of  the  chief  Sanutee,  the  most 
wise  and  valiant  among  the  Yemassees?  Was  it  game— was 
it  battle?  To  us  seemingly  objectless,  his  course  had  yet  a 
motive.  He  continued  to  pursue  it  alone.  It  was  yet  early 
day,  and,  though  here  and  there  inhabited,  no  human  being 
save  himself  seemed  stirring  in  that  dim  region.  His  path 
wound  about  and  sometimes  followed  the  edge  of  a  swamp  or 
bayou,  formed  by  a  narrow  and  turbid  creek,  setting  m  from 
the  river,  and  making  one  of  the  thousand  indentations  com- 
mon to  all  streams  coursing  through  the  level  flats  of  the 
southern  country.  He  occupied  an  hour  or  more  in  rounding 
this  bayou;  and  then,  with  something  of  directness  in  his 
progress,  he  took  his  way  down  the  river  bank  and  toward  the 
settlement  of  the  whites. 

Yet  their  abodes  or  presence  seemed  not  his  object.  When- 
ever, here  and  there,  as  he  continued  along  the  river,  the 
larger  log  hovel  of  the  pioneer  met  his  sight,  shooting  up 
beyond  thev  limits  of  civilization,  and  preparing  the  way  for 
its  approach,  the  Indian  chief  would  turn  aside  from  the 
prospect  with  ill-concealed  disgust. 

He  would  the  plain 


Lay  in  its  tall  old  groves  again." 

Now  and  then,  as— perched  on  some  elevated  bank,  and 
plying  the  mysteries  of  his  woodcraft,  hewing  his  timber, 
clearing  his  land,  or  breaking  the  earth— the  borderer  rose 
before  his  glance,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  his  half-finished 
wigwam,  singing  out  some  cheery  song  of  the  old  country,  as 
much  for  the  strengthening  of  his  resolve  as  for  the  sake 
of  the  music,  the  warrior  would  dart  aside  into  the  forest,  not 
only  out  of  si^ht  but  out  of  hearing,  nor  return  again  to 
the  road  he  was  pursuing  until  fairly  removed  from  ^the 
chance  of  a  second  contact.  This  desire  to  escape  the  sight 
of  the  intrusive  race,  was  not,  however,  to  be   so  readily 


14  THE  YEMASSEE. 

indulged;  for  the  progress  of  adventure  and  the  long  repose 
from  strife  in  the  neighbourhood  had  greatly  encouraged  the 
settlers;  and  it  was  not  so  easy  for  Sanutee  to  avoid  the  fre- 
quent evidences  of  that  enterprise  among  the  strangers,  which 
was  the  chief  cause  of  his  present  discontent.  Though  with- 
out anything  which  might  assure  us  of  the  nature  or  the  mood 
at  work  within  him,  it  was  yet  evident  enough  that  the  habita- 
tions and  presence  of  the  whites  brought  him  nothing  but 
disquiet.  He  was  one  of  those  persons,  fortunately  for  the 
species,  to  be  found  in  every  country,  who  are  always  in 
advance  of  the  masses  clustering  around  them.  He  was  a 
philosopher  not  less  than  a  patriot,  and  saw,  while  he 
deplored,  the  destiny  which  awaited  his  people.  He  well 
knew  that  the  superior  must  necessarily  be  the  ruin  of  the 
race  which  is  inferior — that  the  one  must  either  sink  its 
existence  in  with  that  of  the  other,  or  it  must  perish.  He 
was  wise  enough  to  see,  that,  in  every  case  of  a  leading  dif- 
ference betwixt  classes  of  men,  either  in  colour. or  organiza- 
tion, such  difference  must  only  and  necessarily  eventuate  in 
the  formation  of  castes;  and  the  one  conscious  of  any 
inferiority,  whether  of  capacity  or  of  attraction,  so  long  as 
they  remain  in  propinquity  with  the  other,  will  tacitly  become 
subjects  if  not  bondmen.  Apart  from  this  foreseeing  reflec- 
tion, Sanutee  had  already  experienced  many  of  those  thou- 
sand forms  of  assumption  and  injury  on  the  part  of  the 
whites,  which  had  opened  the  eyes  of  many  of  his  country- 
men, and  taught  them,  not  less  than  himself,  to  know,  that  a 
people  once  conscious  of  their  superiority,  will  never  be 
found  to  hesitate  long  in  its  despotic  exercise  over  their  neigh- 
bours. An  absract  standard  of  justice,  independent  of  appe- 
tite or  circumstance,  has  not  often  marked  the  progress  of 
Christian  (so  called)  civilization,  in  its  proffer  of  its  great 
good  to  the  naked  savage.  The  confident  reformer,  who  takes 
sword  in  one  hand  and  sacrament  in  the  other,  has  always 
found  it  the  surest  way  to  rely  chiefly  on  the  former  agent. 
Accordingly,  it  soon  grew  apparent  to  the  Yemassees,  that, 
while  proposing  treaties  for  the  purchase  of  their  lands,  the 
whites  were  never  so  well  satisfied,  as  when,  by  one  subtlety 
or  another,  they  contrived  to  overreach  them.  Nor  was  it 
always  that  even  the  show  of  justice  and  fair  bargaining  was 


THE  YEMASSEE.  15 

preserved  by  the  new  comer  to  his  dusky  brother.  The  irre- 
sponsible adventurer,  removed  from  the  immediate  surveil- 
lance of  society,  committed  numberless  petty  injuries  upon 
the  property,  and  sometimes  upon  the  person  of  his  wander- 
ing neighbour,  without  being  often  subject  to  the  penalties 
awarded  by  his  own  people  for  the  punishment  of  such 
offences.  From  time  to  time,  as  the  whites  extended  their 
settlements,  and  grew  confident  in  their  increasing  strength, 
did  their  encroachments  go  on ;  until  the  Indians,  originally 
gentle  and  generous  enough,  provoked  by  repeated  aggres- 
sion, were  not  unwilling  to  change  their  habit  for  one  of 
strife  and  hostility,  at  the  first  convenient  opportunity.  At 
the  head  of  those  of  the  Yemassees  entertaining  such  a  feeling, 
Sanutee  stood  pre-eminent.  A  chief  and  warrior,  having 
great  influence  with  the  nation,  and  once  exercising  it  warmly 
in  favour  of  the  English,  he  had,  however,  come  to  see  more 
certainly  than  the  rest  of  his  people,  the  degradation  which 
was  fast  dogging  their  footsteps.  Satisfied  of  the  ultimate 
destinies  of  his  nation,  unless  arrested  in  its  descent  to  ruin, 
his  mind  was  now  wholly  delivered  up  to  meditations  upon 
measures,  designed  for  relief  and  redress.  With  a  sagacity 
and  intelligence,  such  as  are  seldom  to  be  found  among  any 
uncivilized  people,  he  discussed  with  himself  every  possible 
form  of  remedy  for  the  evils  and  dangers  of  his  race,  which 
could  be  conceived  by  a  resolute  and  thinking  spirit,  warmed 
by  patriotism  and  desirous  of  justice.  We  shall  see.  in  the 
sequel,  how  deeply  he  had  matured  the  remedy,  and  how 
keenly  he  had  felt  the  necessity  calling  for  its  application. 

At  length  his  wanderings  brought  him  to  a  cottage  more 
tastefully  constructed  than  the  rest,  having  a  neat  veranda  in 
front,  and  half  concealed  by  the  green  foliage  of  a  thickly 
clustering  set  of  vines.  It  was  the  abode  of  the  Rev.  John 
Matthews,*  an  old  English  Puritan,  who  had  settled  there 

*  One  of  the  express  conditions  upon  which  the  original  patent 
of  Charles  II.  was  granted  to  the  lord  proprietors  of  Carolina, 
was  their  promulgation  of  the  gospel  among  the  Indians.  Upon 
this  charitable  object  the  mission  of  Mr.  Matthews  was  under- 
taken, though  it  may  be  well  to  add,  that  one  of  the  grounds  of 
objection  made  subsequently  to  the  proprietary  charter  was  the 
neglect  of  the  duty.     An  objection  not  so  well  founded  when  we 


16  THE  YEMASSEE. 

with  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  officiated  occasionally  as  a 
pastor,  whenever  a  collection  of  his  neighbours  gave  him  an 
opportunity  to  exhort.  He  was  a  stern  and  strict,  but  a  good 
old  man.  He  stood  in  the  veranda  as  Sanutee  came  in  sight. 
The  moment  the  chief  beheld  him,  he  turned  away  with  a 
bitter  countenance,  and  resolutely  avoiding  the  house  until 
he  had  gone  around  it,  took  no  manner  of  heed  of  the  friendly 
hail  which  the  old  pastor  had  uttered  on  seeing  him  approach. 

This  proceeding  was  unusual:  Sanutee  and  the  preacher 
had  always  before  maintained  the  best  understanding.  The 
unctuous  exhortations  of  the  latter  had  frequently  found  a 
profound  listener  in  the  red  chief,  and  more  than  once  had 
the  two  broken  bread  together,  in  the  cottage  of  the  one  or 
the  wigwam  of  the  other.  The  good  pastor,  however,  did 
not  suffer  his  surprise  at  Sanutee's  conduct  to  linger  in  his 
memory  long.  He  was  not  of  the  class  who  love  to  brood  over 
the  things  that  bewilder  them.  "  It  is  strange,  verily,"  quoth 
he,  as  he  saw  the  chief  turn  aside  abruptly,  and  in  silence, 
"very  strange;  what  has  vexed  him,  I  wonder!"  and  here 
his  reflections  ended  in  regard  to  a  proceeding  which  an  old 
politician  of  the  woods  might  have  meditated  with  profit  to 
the  future. 

Meanwhile,  pursuing  a  winding  route,  and  as  much  as 
possible  keeping  the  river  banks,  while  avoiding  the  white 
settlements,  the  Indian  warrior  had  spent  several  hours  since 
his  first  departure.  He  could  not  well  be  said  to  look  for 
game,  though,  possibly,  as  much  from  habit  as  desire,  he 
watched  at  intervals  the  fixed  gaze  of  his  keenly  scented  dog, 
as  it  would  be  concentrated  upon  the  woods  on  either  side — 
now  hearing  and  encouraging  his  cry,  as  he  set  upon  the 
track  of  deer  or  turkey,  and  pursuing  digressively  the  occa- 
sional route  of  the  animal  whenever  it  seemed  that  there  was 
any  prospect  of  his  success.  As  yet,  however,  the  chase,  such 
as  it  was,  had  resulted  in  nothing.  The  dog  would  return  from 
cover,  forego  the  scent,  and  sluggishly,  with  drooping  head 

consider  the  difficulties  which  the  roving  habits  of  the  savages 
must  at  all  times  and  of  necessity  throw  in  the  way  of  such 
labours    [Simms's  Note]. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  17 

and  indolent  spirit,  silently  trip  along  either  before  or  behind 
his  master. 

It  was  about  mid-day  when  the  chief  rested  beside  a  brook- 
let, or,  as  it  is  called  in  the  south,  a  branch,  that  trickled 
across  the  path;  and  taking  from  the  leathern  pouch  which 
he  carried  at  his  side  a  strip  of  dried  venison  and  a  small 
sack  of  parched  Indian  meal,  he  partook  of  the  slight  repast 
which  his  ramble  had  made  grateful  enough.  Stooping  over 
the  branch,  he  slaked  his  thirst  from  the  clear  waters,  and 
giving  the  residue  of  his  food  to  the  dog,  who  stood  patiently 
waiting  for  the  boon,  he  prepared  to  continue  his  forward' 
progress. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  reached  the  Block  House  of  the 
settlers — the  most  remote  garrison  station  of  the  English 
upon  that  river.  It  had  no  garrison  at  this  time,  however, 
_and  was  very  much  out  of  repair.  Such  had  been  the  friend- 
ship of  the  Yemassees  heretofore  with  the  Carolinians,  that 
no  necessity  seemed  to  exist,  in  the  minds  of  the  latter,  for 
maintaining  it  in  better  order.  The  Block  House  marked 
the  rightful  boundary  of  the  whites  upon  the  river.  Beyond 
this  spot,  they  had  as  yet  acquired  no  claim  of  territory:  and, 
hitherto,  the  Indians,  influenced  chiefly  by  Sanutee  and 
others  of  their  chiefs,"  had  resolutely  refused  to  make  any 
further  conveyance,  or  to  enter  into  any  new  treaty  for  its 
disposal.  But  this  had  not  deterred  the  settlers,  many  of 
whom  had  gone  considerably  beyond  the  limit,  and  suffered 
no  interruption.  All  of  these  were  trespassers,  therefore,  and 
in  a  trial  of  right  would  have  been  soon  dispossessed;  but  in 
the  event  of  such  an  effort,  no  treaty  would  have  been  neces- 
sary to  yield  sufficient  sanction  to  the  adventurers  for  a 
defence  by  arms  of  their  possessions;  and  many  of  the  bor- 
derers so  obtruding  were  of  a  class  to  whom  the  contiguity 
of  the  Indians  was  quite  as  grateful,  and  probably  as  safe, 
as  that  of  their  own  colour.  In  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
Block  House,  however,  the  settlements  had  been  much  more 
numerous.  The  families,  scattered  about  at  a  distance  of 
two,  three,  or  four  miles  from  one  another,  could  easily  assem- 
ble in  its  shelter  in  the  chance  of  any  difficulty.  The  fabric 
itself  was  chiefly  constructed  for  temporary  use  as  a  place 
of    sudden  refuge ;    and    could    with    comparative    ease    be 


18  THE  YEMASSEE. 

defended  by  a  few  stout  hearts  and  hands,  until  relief  could 
reach  them  from  their  brethren  on  the  coast.  Though  not  upon 
the  river,  yet  the  distance  of  this  fortress  from  it  was  incon- 
siderable— a  mile  or  more,  perhaps,  and  with  an  unobstructed 
path  to  a  convenient  landing.  Retreat  was  easy,  therefore, 
by  this  route,  and  succours  by  the  same  way  could  reach  them, 
though  all  the  woods  around  were  rilled  with  enemies.  It 
was  built  after  the  common  plan  of  such  buildings  at  the 
time.  An  oblong  square  of  about  an  acre  was  taken  in  by 
a  strong  line  of  pickets,  giving  an  area  upon  either  end  of 
the  building,  but  so  narrow  that  the  pickets  in  front  and  rear 
actually  made  up  part  of  the  fabric,  and  were  immediately 
connected  with  its  foundation  timbers.  The  house  consisted 
of  two  stories,  the  upper  being  divided  by  a  thick  partition 
into  two  apartments,  with  a  single  clumsy  window  of  about 
three  feet  square  in  the  sides  of  each.  These  windows,  one  or 
other,  faced  all  the  points  of  the  compass;  and  loopholes, 
besides,  were  provided  for  musket  shooting.  Beyond  the 
doorway  there  was  no  other  opening  in  the  stout  logs  of 
which  the  walls  were  made.  The  lower  story  was  a  sort  of 
great  hall,  having  neither  floor  nor  division.  The  only 
mode  of  reaching  the  upper  story  was  a  common  ladder, 
which  might  be  planted  indifferently  against  the  trap-open- 
ings of  each  of  the  chambers;  each  being  thus  provided 
separately  from  the  others,  though  a  slight  effort  only  was 
necessary  to  throw  these  several  apartments  into  one.  A 
line  of  loopholes  below,  at  proper  intervals,  seemed  to  com- 
plete the  arrangements  for  the  defence  of  this  rude,  but 
sufficient  structure,  serving  for  the  exercise  of  sharpshooters 
against  an  approaching  enemy.  The  house  was  built  of  pine 
logs,  put  together  as  closely  as  the  nature  of  the  material  and 
the  skill  of  the  artificers  would  permit;  and,  save  through 
the  apertures  and  windows  described,  was  impervious  to  a 
musket  bullet.  It  was  sufficiently  spacious  for  the  popula- 
tion of  the  country,  as  it  then  stood,  and  the  barrier  made  by 
the  high  pickets,  on  either  side,  was  itself  no  mean  obstacle 
in  a  sudden  fray.  A  single  entrance  to  the  right  area  gave 
access  to  the  building,  through  a  doorway,  the  only  one  which 
it  possessed,  opening  in  that  quarter.  The  gate  was  usually 
of  oak,  stoutly  made,  and  well  ribbed,  but,  in  the  present 


THE  YEMASSEE.  19 

instance,  it  was  wanting  entirely,  having  been  probably  torn 
off  and  carried  away  by  some  of  the  borderers,  who  found 
more  use  for  it  than  for  the  fortress.  The  friendly  terms  of 
relationship,  between  the  red  men  and  the  whites,  had  led  to 
the  utter  neglect,  and  almost  total  abandonment  of  their 
fortress  by  the  latter.  Men  too  much  love  their  ease  not  to 
believe  promptly  in  the  signs  that  encourage  confidence,  and 
our  woodmen,  a  people  bold  and  adventurous,  are  usually 
quite  as  reckless  and  incautious  as  adventurous.  True,  a 
few  hours  might  restore  the  Block  House,  but  in  seasons 
of  surprise  a  few  hours  is  an  eternity.  We  might  as  well 
expect  the  one  as  hope  the  other. 

From  the  Block  House,  which  Sanutee  examined  both 
within  and  without  with  no  little  attention  and  some  show 
o£  discontent,  he  proceeded  towards  the  river.  A  little  duck-) 
like  thing — a  sort  of  half  schooner,  but  of  very  different 
management  and  rigging,  lay  in  the  stream,  seemingly  at 
anchor.  There  was  no  show  of  men  on  board,  but  at  a  little 
distance  from  her  a  boat  rowed  by  two  sailors,  and  managed 
by  a  third,  was  pulling  vigorously  up  stream.  The  appear- 
ance of  this  vessel,  which  he  beheld  now  for  the  first  time, 
seemed  to  attract  much  of  his  attention;  but  as  there  was 
no  mode  of  communication,  and  as  she  showed  no  flag,  he 
was  compelled  to  stifle  his  curiosity,  from  whatever  cause  it 
might  have  sprung.  Leaving  the  spot,  therefore,  after  a 
brief  examination,  he  plunged  once  more  into  the  forest,  and 
as  he  took  his  way  homeward,  with  more  seeming  earnestness 
than  before,  he  urged  his  dog  upon  the  scent,  while  unslinging 
his  bow,  and  tightening  the  cord  of  sinews  until  the  elastic 
yew  twanged  at  the  slight  pressure  which  he  gave  it;  then 
choosing  carefully  the  arrows,  three  in  number,  which  he 
released  from  the  string  which  bound  the  rest,  he  seemed 
now  for  the  first  time  to  prepare  himself  in  good  earnest  for 
the  hunt.  In  thus  wandering  from  cover  to  cover,  he  again 
passed  the  greater  number  of  the  white  settlements  in  that 
precinct,  and,  in  the  course  of  a  couple  of  hours  had  found 
his  way  to  a  spacious  swamp,  formed  by  the  overflow  of  the 
river  immediately  at  hand,  and  familiarly  known  to  the  war- 
rior as  a  great  hiding-place  for  game.  He  perceived  at  this 
point  that  the  senses  of  the  intelligent  dog  became  quickened 


20  THE  YEMASSEE. 

and  forward,  and  grasping  him  by  the  slack  skin  of 
the  neck,  he  led  him  to  a  tussock  running  along  at  the 
edge  of  the  swamp,  and  in  a  zigzag  course  passing 
through  it,  and  giving  him  a  harking  cheer  common  to  the 
hunters,  he  left  him  and  made  a  rapid  circuit  to  an  opposite 
point,  where  a  ridge  of  land,  making  out  from  the  bosom 
of  the  swamp,  and  affording  a  freer  outlet,  was  generally 
known  as  a  choice  stand  for  the  affrighted  and  fugitive  deer. 
He  had  not  long  reached  the  point  and  taken  cover,  before, 
stooping  to  the  earth,  he  detected  the  distant  baying  of  the 
dog,  in  anxious  pursuit,  keeping  a  direct  course,  and  approach- 
ing, as  was  the  usual  habit,  along  the  little  ridge  upon  the 
border  of  which  he  stood.  Sinking  back  suddenly  from  sight, 
he  crouched  beside  a  bush,  and  placing  his  shaft  upon  the 
string,  and  giving  all  ear  to  the  sounds  which  now  continued 
to  approach,  he  stood  in  readiness  for  his  victim.  In  another 
moment  and  the  boughs  gave  way,  the  broken  branches  were 
whirled  aside  in  confusion,  and,  breaking  forth  with  head- 
long bound  and  the  speed  of  an  arrow,  a  fine  buck  of  full  head 
rushed  down  the  narrow  ridge  and  directly  on  the  path. occu- 
pied by  the  Indian.  With  his  appearance,  the  left  foot  of  the 
hunter  was  advanced,  the  arrow  was  drawn  back  until  the 
barb  chafed  upon  the  elastic  yew,  then  whizzing,  with  a  sharp 
twang  and  most  unerring  direction,  it  penetrated  in  another 
instant  the  brown  sides  of  the  precipitate  animal.  A  con- 
vulsive and  upward  leap  testified  the  sudden  and  sharp  pang 
which  he  felt;  but  he  kept  on,  and,  just  at  the  moment  when 
Sanutee,  having  fitted  another  arrow,  was  about  to  complete 
what  he  had  so  well  begun,  a  gunshot  rang  from  a  little  copse 
directly  in  front  of  him,  to  which  the  deer  had  been  flying 
for  shelter.  This  ended  his  progress.  With  a  reeling  stagger 
which  completely  arrested  his  unfinished  leap,  the  victim  sank 
sprawling  forward  upon  the  earth,  in  the  last  agonies  of  death. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  21 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  incident  just  narrated  had  scarcely  taken  place,  when 
the  dog  of  the  Indian  chief  bounded  from  the  cover,  and 
made  towards  the  spot  where  the  deer  lay  prostrate.     At  the 
same  instant,  emerging  from  the  copse  whence  the  shot  had 
proceeded,  and  which  ran  immediately  alongside  the  victim, 
came  forward  the  successful  sportsman.     He  was  a  stout, 
strange  looking  person,  rough  and  weather-beaten,  had  the 
air,  and  wore  a  dress  fashioned  something  like  that  of  the 
sailor.     He  was  of  middle  stature,  stout  and  muscular,  and 
carried  himself  with  the  yawing,  see-saw  motion,  which  marks 
the  movements  generally  upon  land  of  that  class  of  men. 
Still,  there  was  something  about  him  that  forbade  the  idea 
of  his  being  a  common  seaman.    There  was  a  daring  insolence 
of  look  and  gesture,  which,  taken  in  connexion  with  the  red, 
full  face,  and  the  watery  eye,  spoke  of  indulgences  and  a 
habit   of   unrestraint   somewhat   inconsistent   with   one   not 
accustomed  to  authority.    His  dress  was  that  of  the  seaman, 
but  implied  no  ordinary  service.    It  was  that  of  a  person  who 
had  his  fancies,  as  well  as  ample  means.    It  was  fashioned  of 
the  very  finest  stuffs  of  the  time.     He  wore  a  blue  jacket 
studded  thickly  with  buttons  that  hung  each  by  a  link,  and 
formed  so  many  pendent  knobs  of  solid  gold;  and  there  was 
not  a  little  ostentation  in  the  thick  and  repeated  folds  of  the 
Spanish  chain,  made  of  the  same  rich  material,  which  encir- 
cled his  neck.     His  pantaloons,  free,  like  the  Turkish,  were 
also  of  a  light  blue  cloth,  and  a  band  of  gold  lace  ran  down 
upon  the  outer  seam  of  each  leg,  from  the  hip  to  the  heel. 
A  small  dirk,  slightly  curved,  like  that  worn  by  the  young 
officers  of  our  navy  in  modern  times,  was  the  only  apparent 
weapon  which  he  carried,  beyond  the  short,  heavy  German 
rifle  he  had  just  used  so  successfully. 

The  deer  had  scarcely  fallen  when  this  personage  advanced 
towards  him  from  the  wood.  The  shot  had  been  discharged  at 
a  trifling  distance  from  the  deer,  which  was  pushing  for  the 


22  THE  YEMASSEE. 

direct  spot  where  the  stranger  had  been  stationed.     It  had 
penetrated  the  breast,  and  was  almost  instantly  fatal.    A  few 
moments  served  to  bring  him  to  his  victim,  while  Sanutee 
from  the  other  end  of  the  copse  also  came  forward.     Before 
either  of  them  could  get  sufficiently  nigh  to  prevent  him,  the 
dog  of  the  chief,  having  reached  the  deer,  at  once,  with  the 
instinct  of  his  nature,  struck  his  teeth  into  his  throat,  and 
began  tearing  it  voraciously  for  the  blood,  which  the  Indian 
sportsman  invariably  encouraged  him  to  drink.    The  stranger 
bellowed  to  him  with  the  hope  to  arrest  his  appetite,  and  pre- 
vent him  from  injuring  the  meat;  but,  accustomed  as  the 
dog  had  been  to  obey  but  one  master,  and  to  acknowledge  but 
a  single  language,  he  paid  no  attention  to  the  loud  cries  and 
threats  of  the  seaman,  who  now,  hurrying  forward  with  a 
show  of  more  unequivocal  authority,  succeeded  only  in  trans- 
ferring the  ferocity  of  the  dog  from  his  prey  to  himself.   Lift- 
ing his  gun,  he  threatened  but  to  strike,  and  the  animal  sprang 
furiously  upon  him.     Thus  assailed,  the  stranger,  in  good 
earnest,  with  a  formidable  blow  from  the  butt  of  his  fusil,  sent 
the  enemy  reeling;  but  recovering  in  an  instant,  without  any 
seeming  abatement  of  vigour,  with  a  ferocity  duly  increased 
from  his  injury,  he  flew  with  more  desperation  than  ever 
to  the  assault/ and,  being  a  dog  of  considerable   strength, 
threatened  to  become  a  formidable  opponent.     But  the  man 
assailed   was   a   cool,   deliberate   person,   and   familiar   with 
enemies  of  every  description.     Adroitly   avoiding  the   dash 
made  at  his  throat  by  the  animal,  he  contrived  to  grapple 
with  him  as  he  reached  the  earth,  and  with  a  single  hand, 
with  an  exercise  of  some  of  the  prodigious  muscle  which  his 
appearance  showed  him  to  possess,  he  held  him  down,  while 
with  the  other  hand  he  deliberately  released  his  dirk  from  its 
sheath.     Sanutee,  who  was  approaching,  and  who  had  made 
sundry  efforts  to  call  off  the  infuriated  dog,  now  cried  out 
to  the  seaman  in  broken  English — 

"Knife  him  not,  white  man— it  is  good  dog,  knife  him  not." 
But  he  spoke  too  late ;  and  in  spite  of  all  the  struggles  of 
the  animal,  with  a  fierce  laugh  of  derision,  the  sailor  passed 
the  sharp  edge  of  the  weapon  over  his  throat.  The  deed  was 
done  in  an  instant.  Releasing  his  hold,  which  he  had  still 
maintained  with  a  grasp  of  steel,  and  in  spite  of  all  the 


THE  YEMASSEE.  23 

efforts  of  the  animal,  he  left  him  to  perish  where  he  lay,  and 
rising,  prepared  to  meet  the  red  man.  The  dog,  with  a  single 
convulsion,  lay  lifeless  at  his  feet. 

It  was  fortunate  for  himself  that  he  was  rid  of  the  one 
assailant  so  soon;  for  he  had  barely  returned  his  knife  to  its 
sheath,  and  resumed  his  erect  posture,  when  Sanutee,  who 
had  beheld  the  whole  struggle — which,  indeed,  did  not  occupy 
but   a   few   minutes — plunged   forward   as   furiously   as   the 
animal  had  done,  and  the  next  instant  was  upon  the  stranger. 
The  Indian  had  hurried  forward  to  save  his  dog;  and  his 
feelings,  roused  into  rage  by  what  he  had  witnessed,  took 
from  him  much  of  that  cautious  resolve  and  prudence  which 
an   Indian  never  more   exhibits -than  when   his   purpose   is 
revenge.     The  sudden  passions  of  Sanutee,  kindled  so  unex- 
pectedly, and  by  such  a  loss  as  that  which  he  had  just  sus- 
tained, deprived  him  of   his  usual  coolness.     With  a  howl 
of  fury,  as  he  beheld  the  sharp  knife  passing  over  the  throat 
of  his  faithful  follower,  he  bounded  forward.    Throwing  aside 
his  bow,  which  now  only  impeded  his  movements,  he  grappled 
the   stranger  with  such  an  embrace  from  brawny   arms   as 
might  have  compelled  even  the  native  bear  to  cry  for  quarter. 
But  our  red  chief  had  found  no  easy  victim  in  his  grasp. 
The  sailor  was  a  stout  fellow,  all  muscle,  bold  and  fearless, 
and  was  prepared  for  the  assault.     It  was  very  soon  evident 
that   Sanutee,   though  muscular  also,   and  admirably   built, 
was  not  exactly  a  match  for  his  present  opponent.     He  was 
taller,  and  less  compact,  and  labored  of  necessity  under  a 
disadvantage  in  the  trial  of  strength  which  ensued,  with  one 
so  much  shorter  and  more  closely  set.    The  conditions  of  the 
combat  seemed  to  be  perfectly  well  understood  by  both  parties ; 
for,  with  the  exception  of  an  occasional  exclamation  from  one 
or  the  other,  in  the  first  movements  of  the  struggle,  no  words 
passed  between  them.     Their  arms  were  interlaced,  and  their 
bodies  closely  locked  for  a  desperate  issue,  without  parley  or 
preparation.    At  first  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  say  which 
of  the  two  could  possibly  prove  the  better  man.    The  symme- 
try of  the  Indian,  his  manly  height,  and  easy  carriage,  would 
necessarily  incline  the  spectator  in  his  favour;  but  there  was 
a  knotted  firmness,  a  tough,  sinewy  bulk  of  body  in  the  whole 
make  of  his  opponent,  which,  in  connection  with  his  greater 


24  THE  YEMASSEE. 

youth,  would  bring  the  odds  in  his  favour.  If  the  sailor  was 
the  stronger,  however,  the  Indian  had  arts  which  for  a  time 
served  to  balance  his  superiority ;  but  Sanutee  was  exasperated, 
and  this  was  against  him.  His  enemy  had  all  the  advantage 
of  perfect  coolness,  and  a  watchful  circumspection  that 
seemed  habitual.  This  still  defeated,  in  great  part,  the  sub- 
tleties of  his  assailant.  The  error  of  Sanutee  was  in  suffer- 
ing impulse  to  defeat  reflection,  which  necessarily  came  too 
late,  once  engaged  in  the  mortal  struggle.  The  Indian,  save 
in  the  ball-play,  is  no  wrestler  by  habit.  There  he  may  and 
does  wrestle,  and  death  is  sometimes  the  consequence  of  the 
furious  emulation;*  but  such  exercise  is  otherwise  unprac- 
tised among  the  aborigines.  To  regret  his  precipitation, 
however,  was  now  of  little  avail — to  avoid  its  evils  was  the 
object. 

One  circumstance  soon  gave  a  turn  to  the  affair,  which 
promised  a  result  decisive  on  one  side  or  the  other.  So  close 
had  been  the  grasp,  so  earnest  the  struggle,  that  neither  of 
theni  could  attempt  to  free  and  employ  his  knife  without 
giving  a  decided  advantage  to  his  enemy;  but  in  one  of  those 
movements  which  distorted  their  bodies,  until  the  ground 
was  nearly  touched  by  the  knees  of  both,  the  knife  of  the 
Indian  warrior  fell  from  its  sheath,  and  lay  beside  them  upon 
the  turf.  To  secure  its  possession  was  the  object,  upon  which, 
simultaneously  as  it  were,  both  their  eyes  were  cast;  but, 
duly  with  the  desire,  came  the  necessity  of  mutual  circum- 
spection, and  so  well  aware  were  they  both  of  this  necessity, 
that,  it  is  probable,  but  for  an  unlooked-for  circumstance,  the 
battle  must  have  been  protracted  sufficiently  long,  by  exhaust- 
ing both  parties,  to  have  made  it  a  drawn  one.  The  affair 
might  then  have  ended  in  a  compromise ;  but,  it  so  happened, 
that,  in  the  perpetual  change  of  ground  and  position  by  the 
combatants,  the  foot  of  Sanutee  at  length  became  entangled 
with  the  body  of  his  dog.  As  he  felt  the  wrinkling  skin  glide, 
and  the  ribs  yield  beneath  him,  an  emotion  of  tenderness,  a 
sort  of  instinct,  operated  at  once  upon  him,  and,  as  if  fearing 

*  In  a  fair  struggle,  engaged  in  this  manly  exercise,  to  kill  the 
antagonist  is  legitimate  with  the  Indians  generally;  all  other 
forms  of  murder  call  for  revenge  and  punishment  [Simms's  Note]. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  25 

to  hurt  the  object,  whose  utter  insensibility  he  did  not  seem  at 
that  moment  to  recollect,  he  drew  up  his  foot  suddenly,  and 
endeavoured  to  avoid  the  animal.  By  separating  his  legs 
with  this  object,  he  gave  his  adversary  an  advantage,  of  which 
he  did  not  fail  to  avail  himself.  With  the  movement  of 
Sanutee,  he  threw  one  of  his  knees  completely  between  those 
of  the  warrior,  and  pressing  his  own  huge  body  at  the  same 
time  forward  upon  him,  they  both  fell  heavily,  still  inter- 
locked, upon  the  now  completely  crushed  carcase  of  the  dog. 
The  Indian  chief  was  partially  stunned  by  the  fall,  but  being 
a -top,  the  sailor  was  unhurt.  In  a  moment,  recovering  him- 
self from  the  relaxed  grasp  of  his  opponent,  he  rose  upon  his 
knee,  which  he  pressed  down  heavily  upon  Sanutee's  bosom; 
the  latter  striving  vainly  to  possess  himself  of  the  tomahawk 
sticking  in  his  girdle.  But  his  enemy  had  too  greatly  the 
advantage,  and  was  quite  too  watchful  to  permit  of  his  suc- 
ceeding in  this  effort.  The  whole  weight  of  one  knee  rested 
upon  the  instrument,  which  lay  in  the  belt  innocuous.  With 
a  fearful  smile,  which  spoke  a  ferocious  exultation  of-  spirit, 
in  the  next  moment  the  sailor  drew  the  dirk  knife  from  his 
own  side,  and  nourishing  it  over  the  eyes  of  the  defenceless 
Indian,  thus  addressed  him : — 

"  And  now,  what  do  you  say  for  yourself,  you  red-skinned 
devil?  Blast  your  eyes,  but  you  would  have  taken  my  scalp 
for  little  or  nothing — only  because  of  your  confounded  dog, 
and  he  at  my  throat  too.    What  if  I  take  yours  ?  " 

"  The  white  man  will  strike,"  calmly  responded  the  chief, 
while  his  eyes  looked  the  most  savage  indifference,  and  the 
lines  of  his  mouth  formed  a  play  of  expression  the  most  com- 
posed and  natural. 

"  Ay,  d e,  but  I  will.    I'll  give  you  a  lesson  to  keep  you 

out  of  mischief  for  ever  after,  or  I've  lost  my  reckoning  and 
have  no  skill  in  seamanship.  Hark  ye  now,  you  red  devil — 
wherefore  did  you  set  upon  me?  Is  a  man's  blood  no  better 
than  a  dog's  ?  " 

"  The  white  man  is  a  dog.  I  spit  upon  him,"  was  the  reply; 
accompanied,  as  the  chief  spoke,  with  a  desperate  struggle  at 
release,  made  with  so  much  earnestness  and  vigour  as  for  a  few 
moments  seemed  to  promise  to  be  successful.  But  failing  to 
succeed,  the  attempt  only  served  to  confirm  the  savage  deter- 


26  THE  YEMASSEE. 

urination  of  his  conqueror,  whose  coolness  at  such  a  moment, 
more  perhaps  than  anything  beside,  marked  a  person  to  whom 
the  shedding  of  blood  seemed  a  familiar  exercise.  He  spoke 
to  the  victim  he  was  about  to  strike  fatally,  with  as  much 
composure  as  if  treating  of  the  most  indifferent  matter. 

"Ay,  blast  you,  but  you're  all  alike.  There's  but  one  way 
to  make  sure  of  a  redskin,  and  that  is,  to  slit  his  gills  when- 
ever there's  a  chance.  I  know  you'd  cut  mine  soon  enough, 
and  that's  all  I  want  to  know  to  make  me  cut  yours.  Yet, 
who  are  you — are  you  one  of  these  Yemassees  ?  Tell  me  your 
name;  I  always  like  to  know  whose  blood  I  let." 

"  Does  the  white  man  sleep  ? — strike ;  I  do  not  shut  my 
e}^es  to  the  knife." 

"  Well,  d — n  it,  red-skin,  I  see  you  don't  want  to  get  off, 
and  I'm  not  the  man  to  baulk  a  fellow's  spirit  when  it's  his 
own  pleasure  to  walk  the  plank.  It's  as  natural  to  me  to 
cut  a  red-skin's  throat  as  it  is  to  him  to  scalp  a  white ;  and 
you  seem  to  be  one  of  that  sort  of  people  whom  it's  a  sort  of 
pleasure  to  help  through  the  world.  And  yet,  if  you  are  one 
of  these  Yemassee  red-skins ! — " 

This  was  spoken  inquiringly.  Sanutee  did  not  answer. 
Neither  did  he  remain  passive.  Whether  it  was  that  the  grasp 
of  the  sailor  had  been  somewhat  relaxed  upon  him,  that  he 
had  somewhat  recovered  his  own  strength,  or  beheld  in  the 
white  man's  eye  something  of  that  incertitude  which  seemed  to 
lurk  in  his  language,  in  spite  of  its  ferocity,  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  say.  But,  just  at  this  time,  his  struggles  were  renewed, 
and  with  a  determined  effort.  But  the  knife  was  flourished 
over  his  eyes  the  moment  after. 

"  Ah  !  blast  you,  there's  no  saving  }rou  ?  It's  your  throat 
or  mine,  I  see ;  so  here's  at  you,  with  as  sharp  a  tooth  as  ever 
bit  the  throat  of  white  skin  or  a  red  !  " 

Sanutee  threw  up  an  arm  to  avert  the  weapon;  but  the 
stroke  had  been  a  feint.  In  another  moment  the  sharp  steel 
was  driven  towards  the  side  of  the  victim.  The  red  chief, 
ere  the  blow  was  felt,  conjectured  its  direction.  His  eyes 
closed,  and  in  his  own  language  he  began  to  mutter  sounds 
which  might  have  embodied  his  chant  of  many  victories.  He 
had  begun  his  death  song.  But  he  still  lived.  The  blow  was 
arrested  at  the  very  moment  when  it  was  about  to  penetrate 


THE  YEMASSEE.  27 

his  heart.  The  sailor,  seized  from  behind,  was  dragged  back- 
wards from  the  body  of  his  victim  by  another  and  a  powerful 
hand.  The  opportunity  to  regain  his  feet  was  not  lost  upon 
the  Indian,  who,  standing  now  erect  with  his  bared  hatchet, 
again  confronted  his  enemy,  without  any  loss  of  courage,  and 
on  a  more   equal  footing. 


28  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTEE  M. 

The  sailor  turned  fiercely,  dirk  in  hand,  upon  the  person 
who  had  thus  torn  him  from  his  victim;  but  he  met  an 
unflinching  front,  and  a  weapon  far  more  potent  than  his 
own.  The  glance  of  the  new  comer,  not  less  than  his  attitude, 
warned  him  of  the  most  perfect  readiness;  while  a  lively 
expression  of  the  eye,  and  the  something  of  a  smile  which 
slightly  parted  his  lips,  gave  a  careless,  cavalier  assurance  to 
his  air,  which  left  it  doubtful  whether,  in  reality,  he  looked 
upon  a  contest  as  even  possible  at  that  moment.  The  stranger 
was  about  thirty  years  old,  with  a  rich  European  complexion, 
a  light  blue  eye,  and  features  moulded  finely,  so  as  to  com- 
bine manliness  with  as  much  of  beauty  as  might  well  com- 
port with  it.  He  was  probably  six  feet  in  height,  straight  as 
an  arrow,  and  remarkably  well  and  closely  set.  He  wore  a 
dress  common  among  the  gentlemen  of  that  period  and  place 
— a  sort  of  compound  garb,  in  which  the  fashion  of  the  Eng- 
lish cavalier  of  the  second  Charles  had  been  made  to  coalesce 
in  some  leading  particulars  with  that  which,  in  the  American 
forests,  seemed  to  be  imperatively  called  for  by  the  novel  cir- 
cumstances and  mode  of  life  prevailing  in  the  region.  The 
sur-coat  was  of  a  dark  blue  stuff,  usually  worn  open  at  the 
bosom,  and  displaying  the  rich  folds  of  the  vest  below  to  the 
taste  of  the  wearer,  but  which  on  the  present  occasion  was  of 
the  purest  white.  The  underclothes  were  of  a  1  ight  gray,  fitting 
closely  a  person  which  they  happily  accommodated,  yet  served 
admirably  to  display.  His  buskins  were  like  those  worn  by 
the  Indians.  A  broad  buckskin  belt  encircled  his  waist,  and 
secured  the  doublet  which  came  midway  down  his  thigh.  In 
his  hand  he  carried  a  light  fusil  of  peculiarly  graceful  make 
for  that  period,  and  richly  ornamented  with  drops  of  silver 
let  in  tastefully  along  the  stock,  so  as  to  shape  vaguely  a 
variety  of  forms  and  figures.  The  long  knife  stuck  in  his 
belt  was  his  only  other  weapon ;  and  this,  forming  as  it  does 
one  of  the  most  essential  implements  of  woodcraft,  we  may 
scarcely  consider  it  under  that  designation.    A  white  Spanish 


THE  YEMASSEE.  29 

hat,  looped  broadly  up  at  one  of  the  sides,  and  secured  with 
a  small  button  of  gold,  rested  slightly  upon  his  head,  from 
which,  as  was  the  fashion  of  the  time,  the  brown  hair  in  long 
clustering  ringlets  depended  about  the  neck. 

The  sailor,  as  we  have  said,  turned  immediately  upon  the 
person  who,  so  opportunely  for  Sanutee,  had  torn  him  from 
the  body  of  the  Indian;  but  he  encountered  the  presented 
rifle,  and  the  clicking  of  the  cock  assured  him  of  the  perfect 
readiness  of  him  who  carried  it  to  encounter  his  enemy  in 
any  way  that  he  might  choose.  There  was  that  in  the 
stranger's  eye  which  showed  him  to  be  as  cool  and  confident, 
as  he  was  vigorous  and  young.  The  sailor  saw  that  he  was 
no  child — that  he  was  not  less  powerful  of  make  than  the 
red  man,  and  if  his  muscles  had  not  yet  the  same  degree  of 
hardihood,  they  were  yet  much  more  flexible  for  use.  The 
single,  sudden  effort  by  which  he  had  been  drawn  away  from 
his  victim,  indicated  the  possession  of  a  degree  of  strength 
which  made  the  sailor  pause  and  move  cautiously  in  his 
advance  upon  the  intruder. 

"  Well,  my  good  master/'  said  the  seaman,  having  arrived 
at  some  prudent  conclusion  which  tended  in  a  slight  degree 
to  moderate  his  fury — "  what  is  this  matter  to  you,  that  you 
must  meddle  in  other  men's  quarrels?  Have  you  so  many 
lives  to  spare  that  you  must  turn  my  knife  from  the  throat  of 
a  wild  savage  to  your  own?  " 

"  Put  up  your  knife,  good  Pepperbox — put  it  up  while  you 
have  permission,"  said  the  person  so  addressed,  very  com- 
plaisantly,  "  and  thank  your  stars  that  I  came  in  time  to  keep 
you  from  doing  what  none  of  us  might  soon  undo.  Know  you 
not  the  chief — would  you  strike  the  great  chief  of  the  Yemas- 
sees — our  old  friend  Sanutee — the  best  friend  of  the 
English?" 

"  And  who  the  devil  cares  whether  he  be  a  friend  to  the 
English  or  not?  I  don't;  and  would  just  as  lief  cut  his 
throat  as  yours,  if  I  thought  proper." 

"  Ha !  indeed !  vou  care  not  whose  throat  is  cut !  you  care 
not  for  the  friends  of  the  English !  very  wise  indifference  that, 
standing  here,  as  you  do,  in  the  midst  of  an  English  settle- 
ment. Pray,  who  are  you,  my  good  fellow,  and  whither  do  you 
come  from  ?  " 


30  THE  YEMASSEB. 

Such  was  the  response  of  the  Cavalier  to  the  sailor,  whom 
the  language  of  the  former  seemed  for  a  moment  to  arouse 
into  his  former  fury.  But  this  he  found  it  politic  to  restrain; 
a  necessity  which  made  him  not  a  whit  more  amiable  than 
before.  There  was  some  secret  motive  or  policy,  or  it  might  be 
a  sense  of  moral  inferiority,  in  breeding  or  in  station,  which 
seemed  to  have  the  effect  of  keeping  down  and  quelling,  in 
some  sort,  the  exhibitions  of  a  temper  which  otherwise  would 
have  prompted  him  again  to  blows.  The  pause  which  he 
made,  before  responding  to  the  last  direct  enquiry,  seemed 
given  to  reflection.  His  manner  became  suddenly  more  mod- 
erate, and  his  glance  rested  frequently,  and  with  an  enquiring 
expression,  upon  the  countenance  of  the  Indian.  At  length, 
giving  a  direct  reply  to  the  interrogatory  of  the  Cavalier, 
which  seemed  a  yielding  of  the  strife,  he  replied, 

"  And  suppose,  fair  master,  I  don't  choose  to  say  who  I  am, 
and  from  whence  I  come. — What  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  then  let  it  alone,  my  patient  Hercules.  I  care 
little  whether  you  have  a  name  or  not.  You  certainly  cannot 
have  an  honest  one.  For  me  you  shall  be  Hercules  or 
Nebuchadnezzar — you  shall  be  Turk,  or  Ishmaelite,  or  the 
devil — it  matters  not  whence  a  man  comes  when  it  is  easily 
seen  whither  he  will  go/' 

The  countenance  of  the  sailor  again  grew  dark  with  angry 
passions.  The  cool,  contemptuous,  jeering  language  and  man- 
ner of  the  cavalier  were  almost  insupportable  to  one  who  had 
probably  felt  himself  to  be  as  great  as  Xerxes  when  on  the 
quarter  of  his  sloop  or  schooner.  He  showed  clearly  in  the 
sudden  flashing  of  his  eye,  and  the  reddening  darkness  of  his 
cheek,  that  his  passion  was  of  a  sort  to  prompt  him  to 
instantaneous  grapple  with  his  questioner,  but  he  remained 
stubbornly  silent.  It  was  with  evident  effort,  however,  that 
he  commenced  the  process  of  thinking  himself  into  com- 
posure and  caution.  He  had  his  own  reasons  and  there  were 
purposes  in  his  mind,  that  compelled  him  to  consideration  and 
forbearance.  But  for  too  frequent  draughts  of  Jamaica,  this 
self -subjection  had  been  more  easy  from  the  first.  Proceed- 
ing in  a  leisurely  manner  to  reload  his  fusil,  he  offered  no 
interruption  to  the  Englishman,  who  now  addressed  himself  to 
the  Indian. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  31 

"  You  have  suffered  a  loss,  Sanutee,  and  I'm  sorry  for  it, 
chief.  But  you  shall  have  another — a  dog  of  mine — a  fine 
pup  which  I  have  in  Charleston.  When  will  you  go  down  to 
see  your  English  brother  at  Charleston  ?  " 

"  Who  is  the  brother  of  Sanutee  ?  " 

"  The  governor — you  have  never  seen  him,  and  he  would 
like  to  see  you.  If  you  go  not  to  see  him,  he  will  think  you 
love  him  not,  and  that  you  lie  on  the  same  blanket  with  his 
enemies." 

"  Sanutee  is  the  chief  of  the  Yemassess — he  will  stay  at 
Pocota-ligo  with  his  people." 

"  Well,  be  it  so.    I  shall  send  you  the  dog  to  Pocota-ligo." 

"  Sanutee  asks  no  dog  from  the  warrior  of  the  English. 
The  dog  of  the  English  hunts  after  the  dark-skin  of  my  people." 

"  Xo,  no,  old  chief — not  so !  I  don't  mean  to  give  you 
Dugdale.  Dugdale  never  parts  with  his  master,  if  I  can 
help  it;  but  you  say  wrong.  The  dog  of  the  English  has 
never  hunted  the  Yemassee  warrior.  He  has  only  hunted  the 
Savannahs  and  the  Westoes,  who  were  the  enemies  of  the 
English." 

"  The  eyes  of  Sanutee  are  good — he  has  seen  the  dog  of 
the  English  tear  the  throat  of  his  brother." 

"  The  charge  is  a  strange  one,  Sanutee,  and  I  do  not  under- 
stand it.  But  you  are  angered  now,  and  perhaps  with  reason. 
I  shall  see  you  hereafter.  I  will  myself  bring  to  Pocota-ligo, 
the  dog  that  I  promise  you.  He  will  prove  better  than  the 
one  you  have  lost." 

"  Sanutee  would  not  see  the  young  brave  of  the  English  at 
Pocota-ligo.  Pocota-ligo  is  for  the  Yemassees.  Let  the 
Coosaw-killer  come  not." 

"  Hah !  What  does  all  this  mean.  Sanutee  ?  Are  we  not 
friends  ?  Are  not  the  Yemassee  and  the  English  two  brothers, 
that  take  the  same  track,  and  have  the  same  friends  and 
enemies  ?     Is  it  not  so,  Sanutee  ?  " 

"  Speaks  the  young  chief  with  a  straight  tongue — he  says." 

"  I  speak  truth;  and  will  come  to  see  you  in  Pocota-ligo." 

u  No ;  the  young  brave  will  come  not  to  Pocota-ligo.  It  is 
the  season  of  the  corn,  and  the  Yemassee  will  gather  to  the 
festival." 

"  The  green  corn  festival !    I  must  be  there,  Sanutee,  and 


32*  THE  YEMASSEE. 

• 

you  must  not  deny  me.  You  were  not  wont  to  be  so  inhospita- 
ble, old  chief ;  nor  will  I  suffer  it  now.  I  would  see  the  lodge 
of  the  great  chief;  I  would  partake  of  the  venison — some  of 
this  fine  buck  which  the  hands  of  Matiwan  will  dress  for  the 
warrior's  board  this  very  evening." 

"  You  touch  none  of  that  buck,  either  of  you ;  so  be  not  so 
free,  young  master.  It's  my  game,  and  had  the  red-skin  been 
civil,  he  should  have  had  his  share  in  it;  but,  as  it  is,  neither 
you  nor  he  lay  hands  on  it;  not  a  stiver  of  it  goes  into  your 
hatch,  d — n  me." 

The  sailor  had  listened  with  a  sort  of  sullen  indifference  to 
the  dialogue  which  had  been  going  on  between  Sanutee  and 
the  new  comer;  but  his  looks  indicated  impatience  not  less 
than  sullenness ;  and  he  took  the  opportunity  afforded  him  by 
the  last  words  of  the  latter,  to  gratify,  by  the  rude  speech  just 
given,  the  malignity  of  his  excited  temper. 

"  Why,  how  now,  churl  ?  "  was  the  response  of  the  English- 
man, turning  suddenly  upon  the  seaman,  with  a  haughty 
indignation  as  he  spoke — "  how  now,  churl  ?  is  this  a  part  of 
the  world  where  civility  is  so  plentiful  that  you  must  fight  and 
quarrel  to  avoid  a  surfeit.  Hear  you,  sirrah ;  these  woods  have 
bad  birds  for  the  unruty,  and  you  may  find  them  hard  enough 
to  get  through  if  you  put  not  more  good  humour  under  your 
tongue.  Take  your  meat,  for  a  surly  savage  as  you  are,  and 
be  off  as  quickly  as  you  can;  and  may  the  first  mouthful 
choke  you.  Take  my  counsel,  Bully-boy,  and  clear  your  joints, 
or  you  may  chance  to  get  more  of  your  merits  than  your 
venison." 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you,  to  order  me  off  ?  I'll  go  at  my 
pleasure ;  and  as  for  the  Indian,  and  as  for  you — " 

"Well,   what,   Hercules?" 

"  Well,  look  to  square  accounts  with  me  when  I'm  ready 
for  the  reckoning.  There's  no  sea-room,  if  I  can't  have  it 
out  of  you,  perhaps  when  }^ou're  least  able  to  pay  out  rope." 

"  Pooh !  pooh ! "  replied  the  cavalier,  coolly.  "  You 
threaten,  do  you  ?  Well,  as  you  please  and  when  you  please ! 
and  now  that  you  have  discharged  your  thunder,  will  you  be 
good-natured  for  once,  and  let  your  departure  be  taken  for  a 
promise  of  improvement  in  your  manner." 

"  What,  go  !  " 


THE  YEMASSEE.  33 

"  Exactly  !     You  improve  in  understanding  clearly." 

"  I'll  go  when  I  please.  I'll  be  d — d,  if  I  turn  my  back  at 
the  bidding  of  any  man." 

«.  "  You'll  be  something  more  than  d — d,  old  boy,  if  you 
stay.  We  are  two,  you  see;  and  here's  my  Hector,  who's  a 
little  old  to  be  sure,  but  is  more  than  your  match  now  " — 
and  as  the  Englishman  spoke,  he  pointed  to  the  figure  of  a 
sturdy  black,  approaching  the  group  from  the  copse. 

"  And  I  care  not  if  you  were  two  dozen.  You  don't  scare 
me  with  your  numbers.  I  shan't  go  till  it  suits  my  pleasure, 
for  either  red-skin,  or  white-skin,  or  black-skin ;  no,  not  while 
my  name  is — " 

"What?"  was  the  inquiry  -  of  the  Englishman,  as  the 
speaker  paused  at  the  unuttered  name;  but  the  person 
addressed  grinned,  with  a  sort  of  triumph  at  having  extorted 
this  show  of  curiosity  on  the  part  of  the  cavalier,  and  cried: 

"Ah!  you'd  like  to  know,  would  you?  Well,  what'll  you 
give  for  the  information  ?  " 

"  Pshaw !  "  replied  the  cavalier,  turning  from  the  fellow 
with  contempt,  and  once  more  addressing  the  red  chief. 

"  Sanutee,  do  you  really  mean  that  you  would  not  see  me 
at  Pocota-ligo?  Is  your  lodge  shut  against  your  friend?  Is 
there  no  smoking  venison  which  will  be  put  before  me  when 
I  come  to  the  lodge  of  Matiwan.  Why  is  this  ?  I  meant  to  go 
home  with  you  this  very  night." 

Sanutee  replied  sternly: 

"  The  great  chief  of  the  Yemassees  will  go  alone.  He  wants 
not  that  the  Coosaw-killer  should  darken  the  lodge  of  Mati- 
wan. Let  Harrison  " — and  as  he  addressed  the  Englishman 
by  his  name,  he  placed  his  hand  kindly  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  his  tones  were  more  conciliatory — "  let  Harrison  go  down 
to  his  ships — let  him  go  with  the  pale-faces  to  the  other  lands. 
Has  he  not  a  mother  that  looks  for  him  at  evening  ?  " 

"  Sanutee,"  said  Harrison,  fixing  his  eye  upon  him 
curiously, — "  wherefore  should  the  English  go  upon  the 
waters  ?  " 

"  The  Yemassees  would  look  on  the  big  woods,  and  call 
them  their  own.     The  Yemassees  would  be  free." 

"  Old  chief," — exclaimed  the  Englishman,  in  a  stern  but 
low  voice,  while  his  quick,  sharp  eye  seemed  to  explore  the 


34  THE  YEMASSEE. 

very  recesses  of  the  red  chief's  soul, — "  Old  chief ;  thou  hast 
spoken  with  the  Spaniard/' 

The  Indian  paused  for  an  instant,  but  showed  no  signs  of 
emotion  or  consciousness  at  a  charge,  which,  at  that  period, 
and  under  the  then  existing  circumstances,  almost  involved 
the  certainty  of  his  hostility  towards  the  Carolinians,  with 
whom  the  Spaniards  of  Florida  were  perpetually  at  war.  He 
replied,  after  an  instant's  hesitation,  in  a  calm,  fearless 
manner : 

"  Sanutee  is  a  man — he  is  a  father — he  is  a  chief — the 
great  chief  of  the  Yemassee.  Shall  he  come  to  the  Coosaw- 
killer,  and  ask  when  he  would  loose  his  tongue?  Sanutee, 
when  the  swift  hurricane  runs  along  the  woods,  goes  into 
the  top  of  the  tall  pine,  and  speaks  boldly  to  the  Manneyto — 
shall  he  not  speak  to  the  English — shall  he  not  speak  to  the 
Spaniard?  Does  Harrison  see  Sanutee  tremble,  that  his  eye 
looks  down  into  his  bosom  ?    Sanutee  has  no  fear." 

"  I  know  it,  chief — I  know  it — but  I  would  have  you  with- 
out guile  also.  There  is  something  wrong,  chief,  which  you 
will  not  show  me.  I  would  speak  to  you  of  this  and  other 
matters,  necessary  to  the  safety  and  happiness  of  your  people, 
no  less  than  mine,  therefore  I  would  go  with  you  to 
Pocota-ligo." 

"  Pocota-ligo  is  for  the  Manneyto — it  is  holy  ground — the 
great  feast  of  the  green  corn  is  there.  The  white  man  may 
not  go  when  the  Yemassee  would  be  alone." 

"  But  white  men  are  in  Pocota-ligo — is  not  Granger  there, 
the  fur  trader  ?  " 

"  He  will  go,"  replied  the  chief,  evasively.  With  these 
words  he  turned  away  to  depart ;  but  suddenly,  with  an  air  of 
more  interest,  returning  to  the  spot  where  Harrison  stood, 
seemingly  in  meditation,  he  again  touched  his  arm,  and 
spoke : 

"  Harrison  will  go  down  to  the  sea  with  his  people.  Let 
him  go  to  Keawah.  Does  the  Coosaw-killer  hear?  Sanutee 
is  the  wise  chief  of  Yemassee." 

"  I  am  afraid  the  wise  chief  of  Yemassee  is  about  to  do  a 
great  folly.  But,  for  the  present,  Sanutee,  let  there  be  no 
misunderstanding  between  us  and  our  people.  Is  there  any 
thing  of  which  you  complain  ?  " 


THE  YEMASSEE.  35 

"  Did  Saimiee  come  en  his  knees  to  the  English?  He  begs 
not  bread — he  asks  for  no  blanket/' 

"  True,  Sanutee,  I  know  all  that— I  know  your  pride,  and 
that  of  your  people;  and  because  I  know  it,  if  you  have  had 
wrong  from  our  young  men,  I  would  have  justice  done  you." 

"  The  Yemassee  is  not  a  child — he  is  strong,  he  has  knife 
and  hatchet— and  his  arrow  goes  straight  to  the  heart.  He 
begs  not  for  the  justice  of  the  English." 

"  Yet,  whether  you  beg  for  it  or  not,  what  wrong  have  they 
done  you,  that  they  have  not  been  sorry  ?  " 

«  Sorry — will  sorry  make  the  dog  of  Sanutee  to  live  ?  " 

"  Is  this  the  wrong  of  which  you  complain,  Sanutee  ?  Such 
wrongs  are  easily  repaired.  But  you  are  unjust  in  the  matter. 
The  dog  assaulted  the  stranger,  and  though  he  might  have 
been  more  gentle,  and  less  hasty,  what  he  did  seems  to  have 
been  done  in  self-defence.    The  deer  was  his  game." 

"  Ha,  does  Harrison  see  the  arrow  of  Sanutee  ?  "  and  he 
pointed  to  the  broken  shaft  still  sticking  in  the  side  of  the 

animal.  • 

"  True,  that  is  your  mark,  and  would  have  been  fatal  after 
a  time,  without  the  aid  of  gunshot.  The  other  was  more 
immediate  in  effect." 

"  It  is  well.  Sanutee  speaks  not  for  the  meat,  nor  for  the 
dog.  He  begs  no  justice  from  the  English,  and  their  braves 
mav  go  to  the  far  lands  in  their  ships,  or  they  may  hold  fast 
to  the  land  which  is  the  Yemassee's.  The  sun  and  the  storm 
are  brothers — Sanutee  has  said." 

Harrison  was  about  to  reply,  when  his  eye  caught  a  glimpse 
of  another  person  approaching  the  scene.  He  was  led  to 
observe  him,  by  noticing  the  glance  of  the  sailor  anxiously 
fixed  in  the  same  direction.  That  personage  had  cooled  off 
singularly  in  his  savageness  of  mood,  and  had  been  a  close 
and  attentive  listener  to  the  dialogue  just  narrated.  His 
earnestness  had  not  passed  unobserved  by  the  Englishman, 
whose  keenness  of  judgment,  not  less  than  of  vision,  had  dis- 
covered something  more  in  the  manner  of  the  sailor  than  was 
intended  for  the  eye.  Following  closely  his  gaze,  while  still 
arguing  with  Sanutee.  he  discovered  in  the  new  comer  the 
person  of  one  of  the  most  subtle  chiefs  of  the  Yemassee  nation 
— a  dark,  brave,  collected,  malignant,  Ishiagaska,  by  name. 


36  THE  YEMASSEE. 

A  glance  of  recognition  passed  over  the  countenance  of  the 
sailor,  but  the  features  of  the  savage  were  immoveable.  Har- 
rison watched  both  of  them,  as  the  new  comer  approached,  and 
he  was  satisfied  from  the  expression  of  the  sailor  that  the 
parties  knew  each  other.  Once  assured  of  this,  he  determined 
in  his  own  mind  that  his  presence  should  offer  no  sort  of 
interruption  to  their  freedom;  and,  with  a  few  words  to 
Ishiagaska  and  Sanutee,  in  the  shape  of  civil  wishes  and  a 
passing  inquiry,  the  Englishman,  who,  from  his  past  conduct 
in  the  war  of  the  Carolinians  with  the  Coosaws,  had  acquired 
among  the  Yemassees,  according  to  the  Indian  fashion,  the 
imposing  epithet,  so  frequently  used  in  the  foregoing  scene 
by  Sanutee,  of  Coosah-moray-te — or,  as  it  has  been  Englished, 
the  killer  of  the  Coosaws — took  his  departure  from  the  scene, 
followed  by  the  black  slave,  Hector.  As  he  left  the  group  he 
approached  the  sailor,  who  stood  a  little  apart  from  the 
Indians,  and  with  a  whisper,  addressed  him  in  a  sentence 
which  he  intended  should  be  a  test. 

"  Hark  ye,  Aj»x ;  take  safe  advice,  and  be  out  of  the  woods 
as  soon  as  you  can,  or  you  will  have  a  long  arrow  sticking  in 
your  ribs." 

The  blunt  sense  of  the  sailor  did  not  see  further  than  the 
ostensible  object  of  the  counsel  thus  conveyed,  and  his  answer 
confirmed,  to  some  extent,  the  previous  impression  of  Harri- 
son touching  his  acquaintance  with  Ishiagaska. 

"  Keep  your  advice  for  a  better  occasion,  and  be  d — d  to 
3'ou,  for  a  conceited  whipper-snapper  as  you  are.  You  are 
more  likely  to  feel  the  arrow  than  I  am,  and  so  look  to  it." 

Harrison  noted  well  the  speech,  which  in  itself  had  little 
meaning;  but  it  conveyed  a  consciousness  of  security  on  the 
part  of  the  seaman,  after  his  previous  combat  with  Sanutee, 
greatly  out  of  place,  unless  he  possessed  some  secret  resources 
upon  which  to  rely.  The  instant  sense  of  Harrison  readily 
felt  this ;  but,  apart  from  this,  there  was  something  so  sinister 
and  so  assured  in  the  glance  of  the  speaker,  accompanying 
his  words,  that  Harrison  did  not  longer  doubt  the  justice  of 
his  conjecture.  He  saw  that  there  was  business  between  the 
seaman  and  the  last-mentioned  Indian.    He  had  other  reasons 


THE  YEMASSEE.  37 

for  this  belief,  which  the  progress  of  events  will  show.  Con- 
tenting himself  with  what  had  been  said,  he  turned  away 
with  a  lively  remark  to  the  group  at  parting,  and,  followed 
by  Hector,  was  very  soon  hidden  from  sight  in  the 
neighbouring  forest. 


38  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTEK  VI. 

Harrison,  followed  closely  by  his  slave,  silently  entered  the 
forest,  and  was  soon  buried  in  subjects  of  deep  meditation, 
which,  hidden  as  yet  from  us,  were  in  his  estimation  of  the 
last  importance.  His  elastic  temper  and  perceptive  sense 
failed  at  this  moment  to  suggest  to  him  any  of  those  thousand 
objects  of  contemplation  in  which  he  usually  took  delight. 
The  surrounding  prospect  was  unseen — the  hum  of  the  woods, 
the  cheering  cry  of  bird  and  grasshopper,  equally  unheeded ; 
and  for  some  time  after  leaving  the  scene  and  actors  of  the 
preceding  chapter,  he  continued  in  a  state  of  mental  abstrac- 
tion, which  was  perfectly  mysterious  to  his  attendant.  Hector, 
though  a  slave,  was  a  favourite,  and  his  offices  were  rather  those 
of  the  humble  companion  than  of  the  servant.  He  regarded 
the  present  habit  of  his  master  with  no  little  wonderment. 
In  truth,  Harrison  was  not  often  in  the  mood  to  pass  over 
and  disregard  the  varieties  of  the  surrounding  scenery,  in  a 
world  so  new  and  beautiful,  as  at  the  present  moment  he 
appeared.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  one  of  those  men,  of  won- 
derful common  sense,  who  could  readily,  at  all  times,  asso- 
ciate the  mood  of  most  extravagance  and  life  with  that  of  the 
most  every-day  concern.  Cheerful,  animated,  playful,  and 
soon  excited,  he  was  one  of  those  singular  combinations,  which 
attract  us  greatly  when  we  meet  with  them,  in  whom  con- 
stitutional enthusiasm  and  animal  life,  in  a  development  of 
extravagance  sometimes  little  short  of  madness,  are  singularly 
enough  mingled  up  with  a  capacity  equal  to  the  most  trying 
requisitions  of  necessity  and  the  most  sober  habits  of  reflec- 
tion. Unusually  abstracted  as  he  now  appeared  to  the  neg-ro, 
the  latter,  though  a  favourite,  knew  better  than  to  break  in 
upon  his  mood,  and  simply  kept  close  at  hand,  to  meet  any 
call  that  might  be  made  upon  his  attention.  By  this  time 
they  had  reached  a  small  knoll  of  green  overlooking  the  river, 
which,  swollen  by  a  late  freshet,  though  at  its  full  and  falling, 
had  overflowed  its  banks,  and  now  ran  along  with  some  rapiditv 
below  them.    Beyond,  and  down  the  stream,  a  few  miles  off, 


THE  YEMASSEE.  ■  39 

lay  the  little  vessel  to  which  we  have  already  given  a  moment's 
attention.  Her  presence  seemed  to  be  as  mysterious  in  the 
eye  of  Harrison,  as,  previously,  it  had  appeared  to  that  of 
Sanutee.  Dimly  outlined  in  the  distance,  a  slender  shadow 
darkening  an  otherwise  clear  and  mirror-like  surface,  she  lay 
sleeping,  as  it  were,  upon  the  water,  not  a  sail  in  motion,  and 
no  gaudy  ensign  streaming  from  her  tops. 

"Hector,"  said  his  master,  calling  the  slave,  while  he 
threw  himself  lazily  along  the  knoll,  and  motioned  the  negro 
near  him :    "  Hector." 

"  Yes,  sah — Maussa." 

"  You  marked  that  sailor  fellow,  did  you,  Hector?  " 

"  I  bin  see  um,  Maussa." 

"What  is  he;  what  do  you  think  of  him?" 

"I  tink  notin  bout  'em,  sah.— Xebber  see  'em  afore — no 
like  he  look."- 

"Xor  I,  Hector — nor  I.  He  comes  for  no  good,  and  we 
must  see  to  him." 

"  I  tink  so,  Maussa." 

«Xow — look  down  the  river.  When  did  that  strange 
vessel  come  up  ?  " 

"Xebber  see  'em  till  dis  morning,  Maussa,  but  speck  he 
come  up  yesserday.  Mass  Xichol,  de  doctor,  wha'  talk  so  big 
— da  him  fuss  show  'em  to  me  dis  morning." 

"  What  said  Nichols  ?  " 

"  He  say  'tis  English  ship ;  den  he  say  'tis  no  English,  'tis 
Dutch — but  soon  he  change  he  min',  and  say  'tis  little  Dutch 
and  little  Spaniard :  after  dat  he  make  long  speech  to  young 
Mass  Hugh  Grayson." 

"What  said  Grayson?" 

"  He  laugh  at  de  doctor,  make  de  doctor  cross,  and  den  he 
cuss  for  a  d — m  black  rascal." 

"  That  made  you  cross  too,  eh  ?  " 

"  Certain,  Maussa ;  'cause  Mass  Xichol  hab  no  respectability 
for  nigger  in  'em,  and  talk  widout  make  proper  osservation." 

"  Well,  no  matter.  But  did  Grayson  say  anything  about  the 
vessel ?  " 

"  He  look  at  'em  long  time,  sah,  but  he  nebber  say  noting; 
but  wid  long  stick  he  write  letter  in  de  sand.     Dat  young 


40  THE  YEMASSEE. 

Grayson,  Mass  Charles — he  strange  gentleman — berry  strange 
gentleman." 

"  How  often  must  I  tell  yon,  Hector,  not  to  call  me  by  any 
name  here  but  Gabriel  Harrison?  will  you  never  remember, 
you  scoundrel  ?  " 

"  Ax  pardon,  Maussa — 'member  next  time." 

"Do  so,  old  boy,  or  we  quarrel: — and  now,  hark  you, 
Hector,  since  you  know  nothing  of  this  vessel,  I'll  make  you 
wiser.  Look  down  over  to  Moccasin  Point — under  the  long 
grass  at  the  edge,  and  half  covered  by  the  canes,  and  tell  me 
what  you  see  there." 

"Da  boat,  Maussa — I  swear  da  boat.  Something  dark  lie 
in  de  bottom." 

"That  is  a  boat  from  the  vessel,  and  what  you  see  lying 
dark  in  the  bottom,  are  the  two  sailors  that  rowed  it  up.  That 
sailor-fellow  came  in  it,  and  he  is  the  captain.  Now,  what 
does  he  come  for,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Speck,  sa,  he  come  for  buy  skins  from  de  In j  ins." 

"No: — that  craft  is  no  trader.  She  carries  guns,  but  con- 
ceals them  with  box  and  paint.  She  is  built  to  run  and  fight, 
not  to  carry.  I  looked  on  her  closely  this  morning.  Her 
paint  is  Spanish,  not  English.  Besides,  if  she  were  English, 
what  would  she  be  doing  here  ?  Why  run  up  this  river,  with- 
out stopping  at  Charleston  or  Port  Eoyal — why  keep  from  the 
landing  here,  avoiding  the  whites ;  and  why  is  her  officer  push- 
ing up  into  the  Indian  country  beyond  our  purchase  ?  " 

"He  had  'ting  for  sell  de  In j ins,  I  speck,  Maussa." 

"  Scarcely — they  have  nothing  to  buy  with ;  it  is  only  a  few 
days  since  Granger  came  up  from  Port  Royal,  where  he  had 
carried  all  the  skins  of  their  last  great  hunt,  and  it  will  be  two 
weeks  at  least  before  they  go  on  another.  No — no.  They  get 
from  us  what  we  are  willing  to  sell  them;  and  this  vessel 
brings  them  those  things  which  they  cannot  get  from  us — 
fire-arms  and  ammunition,  Hector." 

"You  tink  so,  Maussa." 

"  You  shall  find  out  for  both  of  us,  Hector.  Are  your  eyes 
open  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Maussa,  I  kin  sing  like  mocking  bird,"     .      .    :.:    « 


THE  YEMASSEE.  41 

and  the  fellow  piped  up  cheerily,  as  he  spoke  in  a  familiar 
negro  doggrel. 


Possum   up   a   gum-tree 
Raccoon  in  de  hollow, 
In  de  grass  de  yellow  snake, 
In  de  clay  de  swallow.' " 


"  Evidence  enough.  Now,  hear  me.  This  sailor  fellow 
comes  from  St.  Augustine,  and  brings  arms  to  the  Yemassees. 
I  know  it,  else  why  should  he  linger  behind  with  Sanutee  and 
lshiagaska,  after  his  quarrel  with  the  old  chief,  unless  he 
knew  of  something  which  must  secure  his  protection  ?  - 1  saw 
his  look  of  recognition  to  lshiagaska,  although  the  savage; 
more  cunning  than  himself,  kept  his  eye  cold — and — yes,  it 
must  be  so.  ^ You  shall  go/'  said  his  master,  half  musingly, 
half  direct.  "  You  shall  go.  When  did  Granger  cross  to 
Pocota-ligo  ?  " 

"Dis  morning,  Maussa." 

"  Did  the  commissioners  go  with  him?  " 

"  No,  sah ;  only  tree  gentlemans  gone  wid  him." 

"Who  were  they?" 

"  Sah  Edmund  Bellinger.*  who  lib  close  'pon  Asheepoh — 
Mass  Steben  Latham,  and  nodder  one — I  no  hab  he  name." 

"  Very  well — they  will  answer  well  enough  for  commis- 
sioners.    Where  have  you  left  Dugdale  ? " 

"  I  leff  urn  wid  de  blacksmith, — him  dat  lib  down  pass  de 
Chief  Bluff." 

"  Good ;  and  now,  Hector,  you  must  take  the  track  after 
this  sailor." 

"  Off  hand,  Maussa  ?  " 

"  Yes,  at  once.  Take  the  woods  here,  and  make  the  sweep 
of  the  cypress,  so  as  to  get  round  them.  Keep  clear  of  the 
river,  for  that  sailor  will  make  no  bones  of  carrying  you  off 
to  St.  Augustine,  or  to  the  West  Indies,  if  he  gets  a  chance. 
Watch  if  he  goes  with  the  Indians.     See  all  that  vou  can  of 


*  Landgrave  Edmund  Bellinger  did  not  live  on  the  Ashepoo 
River,  but  upon  Goose  Creek,  less  than  fifteen  miles  from  Charles 
Town  and  about  two  miles  from  the  Cooper  River.  Cf.  McCrady's 
History  of  South  Carolina,  i.,  p.  345,  and  map. 


42<  THE  YBMASSEE. 

their  movements,  and  let  them  not  see  you.     Should  they 
find  you  out,  be  as  stupid  as  a  pine  stump." 

"  And  whay  I  for  fin'  you,  Maussa,  when  I  come  back  ? 
At  de  parson's,  I  speck." — The  slave  smiled  knowingly  as  he 
uttered  the  last  member  of  the  sentence,  and  looked  signifi- 
cantly into  the  face  of  his  master,  with  a  sidelong  glance, 
his  mouth  at  the  same  time  showing  his  full  white  array  of 
big  teeth,  stretching  away  like  those  of  a  shark,  from  ear 
to  ear. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  his  master,  quietly  and  without  seem- 
ing to  observe  the  peculiar  expression  of  his  servant's  face — 
"  perhaps  so,  if  you  come  back  soon.  I  shall  be  there  for  a 
while;  but  to-night  you  will  probably  find  me  at  the  Block 
House.  Away  now,  and  see  that  you  sleep  not ;  keep  your  eye 
open  lest  they  trap  you." 

"  Ha,  Maussa.  Dat  eye  must  be  bright  like  de  moon  for  trap 
Hector." 

"  I  hope  so — keep  watchful,  for  if  that  sailor-fellow  puts 
hands  upon  you,  he  will  cut  your  throat  as  freely  as  he  did 
the  dog's,  and  probably  a  thought  sooner." 

Promising  strict  watchfulness,  the  negro  took  his  way 
back  into  the  woods,  closely  following  the  directions  of  his 
master.  Harrison,  meanwhile,  having  dispatched  this  duty 
so  far,  rose  buoyantly  from  the  turf,  and  throwing  aside  the 
sluggishness  which  for  the  last  half  hour  had  invested  him, 
darted  forward  in  a  fast  walk  in  the  direction  of  the  white 
settlements ;  still,  however,  keeping  as  nearly  as  he  might  to 
the  banks  of  the  river,  and  still  with  an  eye  that  closely 
scanned  at  intervals  the  appearance  of  the  little  vessel  which, 
as  we  have  seen,  had  occasioned  so  much  doubt  and  inquiry. 
It  was  not  often  that  a  vessel  of  her  make  and  size  had  been 
seen  up  that  little  insulated  river ;  and  as,  from  the  knowledge 
of  Harrison,  there  could  be  little  or  no  motive  of  trade  for 
such  craft  in  that  quarter — the  small  business  intercourse  of 
the  whites  with  the  Indians  being  •  soon  transacted,  and 
through  mediums  far  less  imposing — the  suspicions  of  the 
Englishman  were  justified  and  not  a  little  excited,  particularly 
as  he  had  known  for  some  time  the  increasing  discontent 
among  the  savages.  The  fact,  too,  that  the  vessel  was  a 
stranger,  and  that  her  crew  and  captain  had  kept  studiously 


THE  YEMASSEE.  43 

aloof  from  the  whites,  and  had  sent  their  boat  to  land  at  a 
point  actually  within  the  Indian  boundary,  was,  of  itself, 
enough  to  prompt  the  most  exciting  surmises.  The  ready 
intelligence  of  Harrison  at  once  associated  the  facts  with  a 
political  object;  and  being  also  aware,  by  previous  informa- 
tion, that  Spanish  guarda-costas,  as  the  cutters  employed  at 
St.  Augustine  for  the  protection  of  the  coast  were  styled,  had 
been  seen  to  put  into  almost  every  river  and  creek  in  the 
English  territory,  from  St.  Mary's  to  Hatteras,  and  within  a 
recent  period,  the  connected  circumstances  were  well  calcu- 
lated to  excite  the  scrutiny  of  all  well-intentioned  citizens. 

The  settlement  of  the  English  in  Carolina,  though  advanc- 
ing with  wonderful  rapidity,  was  yet  in  its  infancy;  and  the 
great  jealousy  which  their  progress  had  occasioned  in  the 
minds  of  their  Indian  neighbours,  was  not  a  little  stimulated 
in  its  tenour  and  development  by  the  artifices  of  the  neighbour- 
ing Spaniards,  as  well  of  St.  Augustine  as  of  the  Island  of 
Cuba.  The  utmost  degree  of  caution  against  enemies  so 
powerful  and  so  easily  acted  upon,  was  absolutely  necessary; 
and  we  shall  comprehend  to  its  full  the  extent  of  this  con- 
viction among  the  colonists,  after  repeated  sufferings  had 
taught  them  providence,  when  we  learn  from  the  historians 
that  it  was  not  long  before  this  when  the  settlers  upon 
the  coast  were  compelled  to  gather  oysters  for  their  subsistence 
with  one  hand,  while-carrying  fire-arms  in  the  other  for  their 
protection.  At  this  time,  however,  unhappily  for  the  colony, 
such  a  degree  of  watchfulness  was  entirely  unknown. 
Thoughtless  as  ever,  the  great  mass  is  always  slow  to  note 
the  premonitions  and  evidences  of  change  which  are  at  all 
times  going  on  around  them.  The  counsellings  of  nature  and 
of  experience  are  seldom  heeded  by  the  inconsiderate  multi- 
tude, until  their  omens  are  realized,  and  then  when  it  is 
beyond  the  control  which  would  have  converted  them  into 
agents,  with  the  almost  certain  prospect  of  advantageous 
results.  It  is  fortunate,  perhaps,  for  mankind,  that  there  are 
some  few  minds  always  in  advance,  and  for  ever  preparing 
the  way  for  society,  even  sacrificing  themselves  nobly,  that 
the  species  may  have  victory.  Perhaps,  indeed,  patriotism 
itself  would  lack  something  of  its  stimulating  character,  if 
martyrdom  did  not  follow  its  labours  and  its  love  for  man. 


44  THE  YEMASSEE. 

Harrison,  active  in  perceiving,  decisive  in  providing  against 
events,  with  a  sort  of  intuition,  had  traced  out  a  crowd  of 
circumstances,  of  most  imposing  character  and  number,  in 
the  events  of  the  time,  of  which  few  if  any  in  the  colony 
besides  himself,  had  any  idea.  He  annexed  no  small  import- 
ance to  the  seeming  trifle ;  *and  his  mind  was  deeply  interested 
in  all  the  changes  going  on  in  the  province.  Perhaps,  it  was 
his  particular  charge  to  note  these  things — his  station,  pur- 
suit— his  duty,  which,  by  imposing  upon  him  some  of  the 
leading  responsibilities  of  the  infant  society  in  which  he  lived 
had  made  him  more  ready  in  such  an  exercise  than  was  com- 
mon among  those  around  him.  On  this  point  we  can  now 
say  nothing,  being  as  yet  quite  as  ignorant  as  those  who  go 
along  with  us.  As  we  proceed  we  shall  probably  all  grow 
wiser. 

While  Harrison  thus  rambled  downwards  along  the  river's 
banks,  a  friendly  voice  hallooed  to  him  from  its  bosom,  where 
a  pettiauger,  urged  by  a  couple  of  sinewy  rowers,  was  heaving 
to  the  shore. 

"  Halloo,  captain,"  cried  one  of  the  men—"  I'm  so  glad  to 
see  you." 

"Ah,  Grayson,"  he  exclaimed  to  the  one,  "how  do  you 
fare  ?  "—to  the  other,  "  Master  Hugh,  I  give  you  good  day." 

The  two  men  were  brothers,  and  the  difference  made  in 
Harrison's  address  between  the  two  simply  indicated  the 
different  degrees  of  intimacy  between  them  and  himself. 

"We've  been  hunting,  captain,  and  have  had  glorious 
sport,"  said  the  elder  of  the  brothers,  known  as  Walter  Gray* 
son — ."two  fine  bucks  and  a  doe.  We  put  them  up  in  a 
twinkling;  had  a  smart  drive,  and  bagged  our  birds  at  sight. 
Not  a  miss  at  any.  And  here  they  are.  Shall  we  have  you 
to  sup  with  us  to-night  ?  " 

"  Hold  me  willing,  Grayson,  but  not  ready.  I  have  labours 
for  to-night  will  keep  me  from  you.  But  I  shall  tax  your 
hospitality  before  the  venison's  out.  Make  my  respects  to 
the  old  lady,  your  mother;  and  if  you  can  let  me  see  you  at 
the  Block  House  to-morrow,  early  morning,  do  so,  and  hold 
me  your  debtor  for  good  service." 

"  I  will  be  there,  captain,  God  willing,  and  shall  do  as  you 
ask.     I  am  sorry  you  can't  come  to-night." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  r45 

"  So  am  not  I/'  said  the  younger  Grayson,  as,  making  his 
acknowledgments  and  farewell,  Harrison  pushed  out  of  sight 
and  re-entered  the  forest.  The  boat  touched  the  shore,  and 
the  brothers  leaped  out,  pursuing  their  talk,  and  taking  out 
their  game  as  they  did  so. 

"  So  am  not  I,"  repeated  the  younger  brother,  gloomily : — 
"I  would  see  as  little  of  that  man  as  possible." 

"  And  why,  Hugh  ?  In  what  does  he  offend  you  ?  "  was  the 
inquiry  of  his  companion. 

"  I  know  not — but  he  does  offend  me,  and  I  hate  him,  thor- 
oughly hate  him." 

'"And  wherefore,  Hugh!  what  has  he  done — what  said? 
You  have  seen  but  little  of  him  to  judge.  Go  with  me  to-mor- 
row to  the -Block  House — see  him — talk  with  him.  You  will 
find  him  a  noble  gentleman." 

And  the  two  brothers  continued  the  subject  while  moving 
homeward  with  the  spoil. 

"  I  would  not  see  him,  though  I  doubt  not  what  you  say. 
I  would  rather  that  my  impressions  of  him  should  remain  as 
they  are.7* 

a  Hugh  Grayson — your  perversity  comes  from  a  cause  you 
would  brush  that  I  should  know — you  dislike  him,  brother, 
because  Bess  Matthews  does  not." 

The  younger  brother  threw  from  his  shoulder  the  carcase  of 
the  deer  which  he  carried,  and  with  a  broken  speech,  but  a 
fierce  look  and  angry  gesture,  confronted  the  speaker. 

"  \Yalter  Grayson — you  are  my  brother — you  are  my 
brother: — but  do  not  speak  on  this  subject  again.  I  am 
perverse — I  am  unreasonable,  perhaps  !  Be  it  so — I  cannot  be 
other  than  I  am;  and,  as  you  love  me,  bear  with  it  while  you 
may.  But  urge  me  no  more  in  this  matter.  I  cannot  like 
that  man  for  many  reasons,  and  not  the  least  of  these  is,  that 
I  cannot  so  readily  as  yourself  acknowledge  his  superiority, 
while,  perhaps,  not  less  than  yourself,  I  cannot  help  but  feel 
it.  My  pride  is  to  feel  my  independence — it  is  for  you  to  desire 
control,  were  it  only  for  the  connexion  and  the  sympathy 
which  it  brings  to  you.  You  are  one  of  the  million  who  make 
tyrants.  Go — worship  him  yourself,  but  do  not  call  upon 
me  to  do  likewise." 

"  Take  up  the  meat,  brother,  and  be  not  wroth  with  me. 


46  THE  YEMASSEE. 

We  are  what  we  are.  We  are  unlike  each  other,  though 
brothers,  and  perhaps  cannot  help  it.  But  one  thing — nay, 
above  all  things,  try  and  remember,  in  order  that  your  mood 
may  be  kept  in  subjection — try  and  remember  our  old 
mother." 

A  few  more  words  of  sullen  dialogue  between  them,  and 
the  two  brothers  passed  into  a  narrow  pathway  leading  to  a 
cottage,  where,  at  no  great  distance,  they  resided. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  47 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

The  soft  sunset  of  April,  of  an  April  sky  in  Carolina,  lay 
beautifully   over  the  scene   that  afternoon.     Embowered   in 
trees,  with  a  gentle  esplanade  running  down  to  the  river,  stood 
the  pretty  yet  modest  cottage  in  which  lived  the  pastor  of 
the  settlement,  John  Matthews,  his  wife,  and  daughter  Eliza- 
beth.     The   dwelling  was   prettily   enclosed   with   sheltering 
groves— through  which,  at  spots  here  and  there,  peered  forth 
its  well  whitewashed  verandah.     The  river,  a  few  hundred 
yards  in  front,  wound  pleasantly  along,  making  a  circuitous 
sweep  just  at  that  point,  which  left  the  cottage  upon  some- 
thing like  an  isthmus,  and  made  it  a  prominent  object  to 
the  eye  in  an  approach  from  either  end  of  the  stream.     The 
site  had  been  felicitously  chosen,  and  the  pains  taken  with  it 
had  sufficiently  improved  the  rude  location  to  show  how  much 
may  be  effected  by  art,  when  employed  in  arranging  the  toilet, 
and  in  decorating  the  wild  beauties  of  her  country  cousin. 
The  house  itself  was  rude  enough— like  those  of  the  region 
generally — having  been  built  of  logs,  put  together  as  closely 
as  the  material  would  permit,  and  affording  only  a  couple 
of  rooms  in  front,  to  which  the  additional  shed  contributed 
two  more,  employed  as  sleeping  apartments.     Having  shared, 
however,    something    of    the    whitewash    which    had    been 
employed  upon  the  verandah,  the  little  fabric  wore  a  cheerful 
appearance,  which  proved  that  the  pains  taken  with  it  had 
not  been  entirely  thrown  away  upon  the  coarse  material  of 
which   it  had  been   constructed.     We   should  not  forget   to 
mention  the  porch  or  portico   of  four  columns,  formed  of 
slender  pines  decapitated  for  the  purpose,  which,  having  its. 
distinct  roof,  formed  the  entrance  through  the  piazza  to  the 
humble   cottage.     We  are  not  prepared  to  insist  upon  the 
good  taste  of  this  addition,  which  was  very  much  an  excres- 
cence.    The  clustering  vines,  too,  hanging  fantastically  over 
the    entrance,    almost    forbidding    ingress,    furnished    proof 
enough   of  the  presence  and  agency  of  that  sweet  nature, 


V 


48  THE  YEMASSEE. 

which,  lovely  of  itself,  has  yet  an  added  attraction  when 
coupled  with  the  beauty  and  the  purity  of  woman. 

Gabriel  Harrison,  as  our  new  acquaintance  has  been  pleased 
to  style  himself,  was  seen  towards  sunset,  emerging  from  the 
copse  which  grew  alongside  the  river,  and  approaching  the 
cottage.  Without  scruple,  he  lifted  the  wooden  latch  which 
secured  the  gate  of  the  little  paling  fence  running  around  it, 
and  slowly  moved  up  to  the  entrance.  His  approach,  however, 
had  not  been  entirely  unobserved.  A  bright  pair  of  eyes,  and 
a  laughing,  young,  even  girlish  face  were  peering  through 
the  green  leaves  which  almost  covered  it  in.  As  the  glance 
met  his  own,  the  expression  of  sober  gravity  and  thoughtful- 
ness  departed  from  his  countenance ;  and  he  now  seemed  only 
the  playful,  wild,  thoughtless,  and  gentle-natured  being  she 
had  been  heretofore  accustomed  to  regard  him. 

"  Ah,  Bess ;  dear  Bess — still  the  same,  my  beauty ;  still  the 
laughing,  the  lovely,  the  star-eyed — " 

"  Hush,  hush,  you  noisy  and  wicked — not  so  loud ;  mother 
is  busily  engaged  in  her  evening  nap,  and  that  long  tongue  of 
yours  will  not  make  it  sounder." 

"  A  sweet  warning,  Bess — but  what  then,  child  ?  If  we 
talk  not,  we  are  like  to  have  a  dull  time  of  it." 

"  And  if  you  do,  and  she  wakes  without  having  her  nap  out, 
we  are  like  to  have  a  cross  time  of  it;  and  so,  judge  for  your- 
self which  you  would  best  like." 

"  I'm  dumb, — speechless,  my  beauty,  as  a  jay  on  a  visit ! 
See  now  what  vou  will  lose  by  it." 

"What  shall  I  lose,  Gabriel?" 

"  My  fine  speeches — your  own  praise — no  more  eloquence 
and  sentiment  ?  My  tongue  and  your  ears  will  entirely  forget 
their  old  acquaintance ;  and  there  will  be  but  a  single  mode  of 
keeping  any  of  our  memories  alive." 

"  How  is  that — what  mode  ?  " 

"  An  old  song  tells  us — 

"  'The  lips  of  the  dumb  may  speak  of  love, 
Though  the  words  may  die  in  a  kiss — 
And—' " 

"  Will  you  never  be  quiet,  Gabriel  ?  " 

"How  can  I,  with  so  much  that  is  disquieting  near  me? 


THE  YEMASSEE.  49 

Quiet,  indeed, — wiry,  Bess,  I  never  look  upon  you — ay,  for 
that  matter,  I  never  think  of  you,  but  my  heart  beats,  and 
my  veins  tingle,  and  my  pulses  bound,  and  all  is  confusion  in 
my  senses.  You  are  my  disquiet,  far  and  near — and  you 
know  not,  dear  Bess,  how  much  I  have  longed,  during  the  last 
spell  of  absence,  to  be  near,  and  again  to  see  you." 

"  Oh,  I  heed  not  your  flattery.  Longed  for  me,  indeed,  and 
so  long  away.  Why,  where  have  you  been  all  this  while,  and 
what  is  the  craft,  Gabriel,  which  keeps  you  away? — am  I 
never  to  know  the  secret  ?  " 

"Not  yet,  not  yet,  sweetest;  but  a  little  while,  my  most 
impatient  beauty;  but  a  little  while,  and  you  shall  know  all 
and  everything." 

.  "  Shall  I  ?  but,  ah !  how  long  have  you  told  me  so — years, 
I'm  sure — " 

"  Scarcely  months,  Bess — your  heart  is  your  book-keeper." 

"Well,  months — for  months  you  have  promised  me — but 
a  little  while,  and  you  shall  know  all;  and  here  I've  told 
you  all  my  secrets,  as  if  you  had  a  right  to  know  them." 

"  Have  I  not  ? — if  my  craft,  Bess,  were  only  my  secret — 
if  much  that  belongs  to  others  did  not  depend  upon  it — if, 
indeed,  success  in  its  pursuit  were  not  greatly  risked  by  its 
exposure — vou  should  have  heard  it  with  the  same  sentence 
which  just  told  you  how  dear  you  were  to  me.  But,  only  by 
secrecy  can  my  objects  be  successfully  accomplished.  Besides, 
Bess,  as  it  concerns  others,  the  right  to  yield  it,  even  to  such 
sweet  custody  as  your  own,  is  not  with  me." 

"  But,  Gabriel,  I  can  surely  keep  it  safely." 

"  How  can  you,  Bess — since,  as  a  dutiful  child,  you  are 
bound  to  let  your  mother  share  in  all  your  knowledge  ?  She 
knows  of  our  love?  does  she  not?  " 

"  Yes,  yes.  and  she  is  orlad  to  know — she  approves  of  it. 
And  so.  Gabriel — forgive  me ;  but  I  am  very  anxious — and  so 
you  can't  tell  me  what  is  the  craft  you  pursue?"  and  she 
looked  very  persuasive  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  fear  me,  Bess,  if  you  once  knew  my  craft,  you  would 
discover  that  our  love  was  all  a  mistake.  You  would  learn  to 
unlove  much  faster  than  you  ever  learned  to  love." 

"  Xonsense,  Gabriel — you  know  that  is  impossible." 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  Bess,  for  the  assurance ;  but  are  you 


50  THE  YEMASSEE. 

sure — suppose  now,  that  I  were  a  pedler,  doing  the  same  busi- 
ness with  Granger,  probably  his  partner — only  think." 

"  That  cannot  be — I  know  better  than  that —  I'm  certain  it 
is  not  so." 

"  And  why  not,  my  Beautiful." 

"  Have  done ! — and,  Gabriel,  cease  calling  me  nicknames, 
or  I'll  leave  you.  I  won't  suffer  it.  You  make  quite  too 
free." 

"  Do  I,  Bess, — well,  I'm  very  sorry — but  I  can't  help  it, 
half  the  time,  I  assure  you.  It's  my  nature — I  was  born  so, 
and  have  been  so  from  the  cradle  up.  Freedom  is  my 
infirmity.  It  leads  to  sad  irreverences,  I  know.  The  very 
first  words  I  uttered,  were  so  many  nicknames,  and  in  calling 
my  own  papa,  would  you  believe  it,  I  could  never  get  further 
than  the  pap." 

"  Obstinate — incorrigible  man  !  " 

"  Dear,  delightful,  mischievous  woman — But,  Bess,  by 
what  are  you  assured  I  am  no  trader  ?  " 

"  By  many  things,  Gabriel — by  look,  language,  gesture, 
manner — your  face,  your  speech. — All  satisfy  me  that  you  are 
no  trader,  but  a  gentleman — like  the  brave  cavaliers  that 
stood  by  King  Charles." 

"A  dangerous  comparison,  Bess,  if  your  old  Puritan  sire 
could  hear  it.  What!  the  daughter  of  the  grave  Pastor 
Matthews  thinking  well  of  the  cavaliers  of  Charlie  Stuart? 
Shocking ! — why,  Bess,  let  him  but  guess  at  such  bad  taste  on 
your  part,  he'll  be  down  upon  you,  thirty  thousand  strong, 
in  scolds  and  sermons." 

"  Hush — don't  speak  of  papa  after  that  fashion.  It's  true, 
he  talks  hardly  of  the  cavaliers — and  I  think  well  of  those  he 
talks  ill  of; — so  much  for  your  teaching,  Gabriel.  It  is  you 
that  are  to  blame.  But  he  loves  me;  and  that's  enough  to 
make  me  respect  his  opinions,  and  to  love  him,  in  spite  of 
them." 

"You  think  he  loves  you,  Bess — and  doubtlessly  he  does, 
as  who  could  otherwise — but,  is  it  not  strange  that  he  does  not 
love  you  enough  to  desire  your  happiness  ?  " 

"Why,  so  he  does." 

"  How  can  that  be,  Bess,  when  he  still  refuses  you  to  me  ?  " 

"  And  are  you  so  sure,  Gabriel,  that  his  consent  would  have 


THE  YEMASSEE.  51 

that  effect  ?    Would  it,  indeed,  secure  my  happiness  ?  " 

The  maiden  made  the  inquiry,  slowly,  half  pensively,  half 
playfully,  with  a  look  nevertheless  downcast,  and  a  cheek  that 
showed  a  blush  after  the  prettiest  manner.  Harrison  passed 
his  arm  about  her  person,  and  with  a  tone  and  countenance 
something  graver  than  usual,  but  full  of  tenderness,  replied : — 

"  You  do  not  doubt  it  yourself,  dearest.  I'm  sure  you  do 
not.  Be  satisfied  of  it,  so  far  as  a  warm  affection,  and  a 
thought  studious  to  please  your  own,  can  give  happiness  to 
mortal.  If  you  are  not  assured  by  this  time,  no  word  from 
me  can  make  you  more  so.  True,  Bess — I  am  wild — perhaps 
rash  and  frivolous — foolish,  and  in  some  things  headstrong 
and  obstinate  enough;  but  the  love  for  you,  Bess,  which  I 
-have  always  felt,  I  have  felt  as  a  serious  and  absorbing  con- 
cern, predominating  over  all  other  objects  of  my  existence. 
Let  me  be  at  the  wildest — the  waywardest — as  full  of  irregular 
impulse  as  I  may  be,  and  your  name,  and  the  thought  of 
you,  bring  me  back  to  myself,  bind  me  down,  and  take  all 
wilfulness  from  my  spirit.  It  is  true,  Bess,  true,  by  the 
blessed  sunlight  that  gives  us  its  smile  and  its  promise  while 
passirig  from  our  sight — but  this  you  knew  before,  and  only 
desired  its  re-assertion,  because — " 

"  Because  what.   Gabriel  ?  " 

"  Because  the  assurance  is  so  sweet  to  your  ears,  that  you 
could  not  have  it  too  often  repeated." 

"  Oh,  abominable — thus  it  is,  you  destroy  all  the  grace  of 
your  pretty  speeches.  But  you  mistake  the  sex,  if  you  sup- 
pose we  care  for  your  vows  on  this  subject — knowing,  as  we 
do,  that  you  are  compelled  to  love  us,  we  take  the  assurance 
for  granted/' 

"  I  grant  you ;  but  the  case  is  yours  also.  Love  is  a  mutual 
necessity;  and  were  it  not  that  young  hearts  are  still  old 
hypocrites,  the  general  truth  would  have  long  since  been 
admitted ;  but — " 

He  was  interrupted  at  this  point  of  the  dialogue — which, 
in  spite  of  all  the  warnings  of  the  maiden,  had  been  carried 
on,  in  the  warmth  of  its  progress,  somewhat  more  loudly 
than  was  absolutely  necessary — and  brought  back  to  a  per- 
ception of  the  error  by  a  voice  of  inquiry  from  within, 
demanding  of  Bess  with  whom  she  spoke. 


52  THE  YEMASSEE. 

'With  Gabriel — with  Captain  Harrison — mother." 
"  Well,  why  don't  you  bring  him  in  ?    Have  you  forgotten 
your  manners,  Bess  ?  " 

"No,  mother,  but — come  in,  Gabriel,  come  in:" — and  as 
she  spoke  she  extended  her  hand,  which  he  passionately  car- 
ried to  his  lips,  and  resolutely  maintained  there,  in  spite  of 
all  her  resistance,  while  passing  into  the  entrance  and  before 
reaching  the  apartment.     The  good  old  dame,  a  tidy,  well- 
preserved  antique,  received  the  visitor  with  regard  and  kind- 
ness, and,  though  evidently  but  half  recovered  from  a  sound 
nap,  proceeded  to  chatter  with  him,  and  at  him,  with  all  the 
garrulous  freedom  of  one  who  saw  but  little  of  the  world, 
possessed  more  than  her  usual  share  of  the  curiosity  of  the 
sex,  and  exercised  the  natural  garrulity  of  age.   Harrison,  with 
that  playful  frankness  which  formed  so  large  a  portion  of  his 
manner,  and  without  any  effort,  had  contrived  long  since  to 
make  himself  a  friend  in  the  mother  of  his  sweetheart;  and 
knowing  her  foible,  he  now  contented  himself  with  provoking 
the  conversation,  prompting  the  choice  of  material,  and  leav- 
ing the  tongue  of  the  old  lady  at  her  own  pleasure  to  pursue 
it :  he,  in  the  meanwhile,  contriving  that  sort  of  chat,  through 
the  medium  of  looks  and  glances  with  the  daughter,  so  grate- 
ful in  all  similar  cases  to  young  people,  and  which,  at  the 
same  time,  offered  no  manner  of  obstruction  to  the  employ- 
ment of  the  mother.     It  was  not  long  before  Mr.  Matthews, 
the  pastor  himself,  made  his  appearance,  and  the  courtesies 
of  his  reception  were  duly  extended  by  him  to  the  guest  of  his 
wife  and  daughter;  but  there  seemed  a  something  of  back- 
wardness, a  chilly  repulsiveness  in  the  manner  of  the  old 
gentleman,  quite  repugnant  to  the  habits  of  the  country,  and 
not  less  so  to  the  feelings  of  Harrison.     For  a  brief  period, 
indeed,  the  cold  deportment  of  the  Pastor  had  the  effect  of 
somewhat  freezing  the  warm  exuberant  blood  of  the  cavalier, 
arresting  the  freedom  of  his  speech,  and  flinging  a  chilling 
spell  over  the  circle.     The  old  man  was  an  ascetic — a  stern 
Presbyterian — one  of  the  ultra-noncomformists — and  not  a 
little  annoyed  at  that  period,  and  in  the  new  country,  by  the 
course  of  government,  and  plan  of  legislation  pursued  by  the 
Proprietary  Lords  of  the  province,  which,  in  the  end,  brought 
about  a  revolution  in  Carolina,  resulting  in  the  transfer  of 


THE  YEMASSEE.  '53 

their  colonial  rights  and  the  restoration  of  their  charter  to 
the  crown.     The  leading  proprietors  were  generally  of  the 
church  of  England,  and,  with  all  the  bigotry  of  the  zealot, 
forgetting,  and  in  violation  of  their  strict  pledges,  given  at 
the  settlement  of  the  colony — and  through  which  they  made 
the  acquisition  of  a  large  body  of  their  most  valuable  popula- 
tion— not   to   interfere   in   the   popular   religion — they   pro- 
ceeded, soon  after  the  colony  began  to  nourish,  to  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  regular  church,  and,  from  step  to  step,  had  at 
length  gone  so  far  as  actually  to  exclude  from  all  representa- 
tion in  the  colonial  assemblies,  such  portions  of  the  country 
as  were  chiefly  settled  by  other  sects.    The  region  in  which  we 
find  our  story,  shared  in  this  exclusion;  and,  with  a  man  like 
Matthews,   who  was  somewhat  stern   of  habit  and  cold  of 
temperament — a  good  man  in  his  way,  and  as  the  world  goes, 
but  not  an  overwise  one — a  stickler  for  small  things — wedded 
to  old  habits  and  prejudices,  and  perhaps  like  a  very  exten- 
sive class,  one  who,  preserving  forms,  might  with  little  diffi- 
culty be  persuaded  to  throw  aside  principles — with  such  a 
man  the  native  acerbity  of  his  sect  might  be  readily  sup- 
posed to  undergo  vast  increase  and  exercise,  from  the  politi- 
cal disabilities  thus  warring  with  his  religious  professions. 
He  was  a  bigot  himself,  and,  with  the  power,  would  doubtless 
have  tyrannised  after  a  similar  fashion.     The  world  within 
him  was  what  he  could  take  in  with  his  eye,  or  control  within 
the  sound  of  his  voice.     He  could  not  be  brought  to  under- 
stand that  climates  and  conditions  should  be  various,  and  that 
the  popular  good,  in  a  strict  reference  to  the  mind  of  man, 
demanded  that  people  should  everywhere  differ  in  manner 
and  opinion.'    He  wore  clothes  after  a  different  fashion  from 
those  who  ruled,  and  the  difference  was  vital ;  but  he  perfectly 
agreed  with  those  in  power  that  there  should  be  a  prescribed 
standard  by   which  the   opinions   of   all   persons   should   be 
regulated ;  and  such  a  point  as  this  forms  the  faith  for  which, 
forgetful  all  the  while  of  propriety,  not  less  than  of  truth,  so 
many  thousands  are  ready  for  the  stake  and  the  sacrifice.  But 
though  as  great  a  bigot  as  any  of  his  neighbours,  Matthews 
yet  felt  how  very  uncomfortable  it  was  to  be  in  a  minority; 
and  the  persecutions  to  which  his  sect  had  been  exposed  in 
Carolina,  where  they  had  been  taught  to  look  for  every  form  of 


U  THE  YEMASSEE. 

indulgence,  had  made  him  not  less  hostile  towards  the  govern- 
ment than  bitter  in  his  feelings  and  conduct  in  society  to  those 
who  were  of  the  ruling  party.  To  him,  the  bearing  of  Harri- 
son,— his  dashing,  free,  unrestrainable  carriage,  directly 
adverse  to  Puritan  rule  and  usage,  was  particularly  offensive ; 
and,  at  this  moment,  some  newly  proposed  exactions  of  the 
proprietors  in  England,  having  for  their  object  something 
more  of  religious  reform,  had  almost  determined  many  of  the 
Puritans  to  remove  irom  the  colony,  and  place  themselves 
under  the  more  gentle  and  inviting  rule  of  Penn,  then 
beginning  to  attract  all  eyes  to  the  singularly  pacific  and 
wonderfully  successful  government  of  his  establishment. 
Having  this  character,  and  perplexed  with  these  thoughts,  old 
Matthews  was  in  no  mood  to  look  favourably  upon  the  suit  of 
Harrison.  For  a  little  while  after  his  entrance  the  dialogue 
was  constrained  and  very  chilling,  and  Harrison  himself 
grew  dull  under  its  influence,  while  Bess  looked  every  now  and 
then  doubtfully,  now  to  her  father  and  now  to  her  lover,  not 
a  little  heedful  of  the  increased  sternness  which  lowered  upon 
the  features  of  the  old  man.  Some  family  duties  at  length 
demanding  the  absence  of  the  old  lady,  Bess  took  occasion 
to  follow;  and  the  circumstance  seemed  to  afford  the  pastor 
a  chance  for  the  conversation  which  he  desired. 

"  Master  Harrison/'  said  he,  gravely,  "  I  have  just  returned 
from  a  visit  to  Port  Eoyal  Island,  and  from  thence  to 
Charleston." 

"  Indeed,  sir — I  was  told  you  had  been  absent,  but  knew 
not  certainly  where  you  had  gone.    How  did  you  travel  ?  w 

"  By  canoe,  sir.  to  Port  Eoyal,  and  then  by  Miller's  sloop 
to  Charleston." 

"  Did  you  find  all  things  well,  sir,  in  that  quarter,  and  was 
there  any  thing  from  England  ?  " 

"  All  things  were  well,  sir ;  there  had  been  a  vessel  with 
settlers  from  England." 

"  What  news,  sir — what  news  ?  " 

"  The  death  of  her  late  majesty,  Queen  Anne,  whom  God 
receive — " 

"  Amen ! — but  the  throne — "  was  the  impatient  inquiry. 
"  The  succession  ?  " 

"  The  throne,  sir,  is  filled  by  the  Elector  of  Hanover — " 


THE  YEMASSEE.  55 

"  Xow  may  I  hear  falsely,  for  I  would  not  heed  this  tale  ? 
What — was  there  no  struggle  for  the  Stuart — no  stroke? — 
now  shame  on  the  people  so  ready  for  the  chain; — so  little 
loyal  to  the  true  sovereign  of  the  realm  V  and  as  Harrison 
spoke,  he  rose  with  a  brow  deeply  wrinkled  with  thought  and 
indignation,  and  paced  hurriedly  over  the  floor. 

"  You  are  fast,  too  fast,  Master  Harrison ;  there  had  been 
strife,  and  a  brief  struggle,  though,  happily  for  the  nation, 
a  successless  one,  to  lift  once  more  into  the  high  places  of 
power  that  bloody  and  witless  family — the  slayers  and  the  per- 
secutors of  the  saints.  But  thanks  be  to  the  God  that  breathed 
upon  truTforces  of  the  foe,  and  shrunk  up  their  sinews.  The 
-strife  is  at  rest  there;  but  when,  oh  Lord,  shall  the  persecu- 
tions of  thy  servants  cease  here,  even  in  thy  own  untrodden 
places ! " 

The  old  man  paused,  while,  without  seeming  to  notice  well 
what  lie  had  last  said,  Harrison  continued  to  pace  the  floor  in 
deep  meditation.  x\t  length  the  pastor  again  addressed  him, 
though  in  a  different  tone  and  upon  a  very  different  subject. 

"  Master  Harrison,"  said  he,  "  I  have  told  thee  that  I  have 
been  to  Charleston — perhaps  I  should  tell  thee  that  it  would 
have  been  my  pleasure  to  meet  with  thee  there." 

"  I  have  been  from  Charleston  some  weeks,  sir,"  was  the 
somewhat  hurried  reply.  "  I  have  had  labours  upon  the 
Ashepoo,  and  even  to  the  waters  of  the  Savannah." 

"  I  doubt  not — I  doubt  not,  Master  Harrison,"  was  the 
sober  response ;  "  thy  craft  carries  thee  far,  and  thy  labours 
are  manifold;  but  what  is  that  craft,  Master  Harrison?  and, 
while  I  have  it  upon  my  lips,  let  me  say,  that  it  was  matter  of 
strange  surprise  in  my  mind,  when  I  asked  after  thee  in 
Charleston,  not  to  find  any  wholesome  citizen  who  could  point 
out  thy  lodgings,  or  to  whom  thy  mere  name  was  a  thing 
familiar.  Vainly  did  I  ask  after  thee — none  said  for  thee, 
Master  Harrison  is  a  good  man  and  true,  and  his  works  are 
sound  and  sightworthy." 

"  Indeed — the  savages" — spoke  the  person  addressed,  with 
a  most  provoking  air  of  indifference — "  and  so,  Mr.  Matthews, 
your  curiosity  went  without  profit  in  either  of  those  places  ?  r' 

"  Entirely,  sir — and  I  would  even  have  sought  that  worthy 
gentleman,  Lord  Craven,  for  his  knowledge  of  thee,  if  he 


56  THE  YEMASSEE. 

had  aught  to  say,  but  that  he  wasrgone  forth  upon  a  journey/' 
replied  the  old  gentleman,  with  an  air  of  much  simplicity. 

"  That  would  have  been  going  far  for  thy  curiosity,  sir — 
very  far — and  it  would  be  lifting  a  poor  gentleman  like  my- 
self into  undeserving  notice,  to  have  sought  for  him  at  the 
hands  of  the  Governor  Craven." 

"  Thou  speakest  lightly  of  my  quest,  Master  Harrison,  as, 
indeed,  it  is  too  much  thy  wont  to  speak  of  all  other  things," 
was  the  grave  response  of  Matthews ;  "  but  the  subject  of  my 
enquiry  was  too  important  to  the  wellbeing  of  my  family,  to 
be  indifferent  to  me,  and  this  provides  me  the  excuse  for  med- 
dling with  concerns  of  thine !  " 

Harrison  paused  for  a  moment,  and  looked  steadfastly,  and 
with  something  like  affectionate  interest  in  the  face  of  the  old 
man;  and  for  a  moment  seemed  about  to  address  him  in  lan- 
guage of  explanation;  but  he  turned  away  hurriedly,  and 
walking  across  the  floor,  muttered  audibly — "  Not  yet !  not 
yet !  not  yet !     It  will  not  do  yet." 

"What  will  not  do,  Master  Harrison?  If  thou  wouldst 
speak  thy  mind  freely,  it  were  wise." 

The  young  man  suddenly  resumed  his  jesting  manner. 

"  And  so,  sir,  there  were  no  Harrisons  in  Charleston — 
none  in  Port  Royal  ?  " 

"  Harrisons  there  were — " 

"  True,  true,  sir — "  said  Harrison,  breaking  in — "  true,  true 
— Harrisons  there  were,  but  none  of  them  the  true.  There 
was  no  Gabriel  among  the  saints  of  those  places." 

"  Speak  not  so  irreverently,  sir, — if  I  may  crave  so  much 
from  one  who  seems  usually  so  indifferent  to  my  desires,  how- 
ever regardful  he  may  be  at  all  times  of  his  own." 

"  Not  so  seriously,  Mr.  Matthews,"  replied  the  other,  now 
changing  his  tone  to  a  business-like  and  straightforward 
character.  "Not  so  seriously,  sir,  if  you  please;  you  are 
quite  too  grave  in  this  matter,  by  half,  and  allow  nothing  for 
the  ways  of  one  who,  perhaps,  is  not  a  jot  more  extravagant  in 
his,  than  you  are  in  yours.  Permit  me  to  say,  sir,  that  a  little 
more  plain  confidence  in  Gabriel  Harrison  would  have  saved 
thee  the  unnecessary  and  unprofitable  trouble  thou  hast  given 
thyself  in  Charleston.  I  know  well  enough,  and  should  will- 
ingly have  assured  thee  that  thy  search  after  Gabriel  Harri- 


THE  YEMASSBE.  57 

-son  in  Charleston  would  be  as  wild  as  that  of  the  old 
Spaniard*  among  the  barrens  of  Florida  for  the  waters  of  an 
eternal  youth.  He  has  neither  chick  nor  child,  nor  friend 
nor  servant,  either  in  Charleston  or  in  Port  Royal,  and  men 
there  may  not  well  answer  for  one  whom  they  do  not  often 
see  unless  as  a  stranger.  Gabriel  Harrison  lives  not  in  those 
places,  Master  Matthews." 

"  It  is  not  where  he  lives  not  that  I  seek  to  know — to  this 
thou  hast  spoken  only,  Master  Harrison — wilt  thou  now  con- 
descend to  say  where  he  does  live,  where  his  name  and  person 
may  be"Toiown,  where  his  dwelling  and  his  connexions  may  be 
found — what  is  his  craft,  what  his  condition  ?  * 

"A  different  inquiry  that,  Mr.  Matthews,  and  one  rather 
more  difficult  to  answer — now  at  least.  I  must  say  to  you, 
sir,  as  I  did  before,  when  first  speaking  with  you  on  the  sub- 
ject of  your  daughter,  that  I  am  of  good  family  and  con- 
nexions, drive  no  servile  or  dishonourable  craft — am  one  thou 
shalt  not  be  ashamed  of — neither  thou  nor  thy  daughter ;  and, 
though  now  engaged  in  a  pursuit  which  makes  it  necessary 
that  much  of  my  own  concerns  be  kept  for  a  time  in  close 
secrecy,  yet  the  day  will  come,  and  I  look  for  it  to  come  ere 
long,  when  all  shall  be  known,  and  thou  shalt  have  no  reason 
to  regret  thy  confidence  in  the  stranger.  For  the  present,  I 
can  tell  thee  no  more.7' 

"This  will  not  do  for  me,  Master  Harrison — it  will  not 
serve  a  father.  On  an  assurance  so  imperfect,  I  cannot  risk 
the  good  name  and  the  happiness  of  my  child;  and,  let  me 
add  to  thee.'  Master  Harrison,  that  there  are  other  objections 
which  gather  in  my  mind,  hostile  to  thy  claim,  even  were 
these  entirely  removed." 

"Ha!  what  other  objections,  sir? — speak." 

"Many,  sir;  nor  the  least  of  these,  thy  great  levity  of 
speech  and  manner,  on  all  occasions;  a  levity  which  is  unbe- 
coming in  one  having  an  immortal  soul,  and  discreditable  to 
one  of  thy  age." 

"  My  age,  indeed,  sir — my  youth,  you  will  surely  phrase  it 
upon  suggestion,  for  I  do  not  mark  more  than  thirty,  and 

♦Juan   Ponce   de   Leon,   1460-1521. 


V 


58  THE  YEMASSEE. 

would  have  neither  Bess  nor  yourself  count  upon  me  for  a 
greater  experience  of  years/' 

"  It  is  unbecoming,  sir,  in  any  age,  and  in  you  shows  itself 
quite  too  frequently.  Then,  sir,  your  tone  and  language, 
contemptuous  of  many  things  which  the  lover  of  religion  is 
taught  to  venerate,  too  greatly  savour  of  that  ribald  court  and 
reign  which  made  merry  at  the  work  of  the  Creator,  and  the 
persecution  of  his  creatures,  and  drank  from  a  rich  cup  where 
the  wine  of  drunkenness  and  the  blood  of  the  saints  were 
mixed  together  in  most  lavish  profusion.  You  sing,  sir, 
mirthful  songs,  and  sometimes,  though,  perhaps,  not  so  often, 
employ  a  profane  oath,  in  order  that  your  speech — a  vain 
notion,  but  too  common  among  thoughtless  and  frivolous 
persons — may,  in  the  silly  esteem  of  the  idle  and  the  ignorant, 
acquire  a  strong  and  sounding  force,  and  an  emphasis  which 
might  not  be  found  in  the  meaning  and  sense  which  it  would 
convey.  Thy  common  speech,  Master  Harrison,  has  but  too 
much  the  ambition  of  wit  about  it — which  is  a  mere  crackling 
of  thorns  beneath  the  pot " 

"  Enough,  enough,  good  father  of  mine  that  is  to  be~;  you 
have  said  quite  enough  against  me,  and  more,  rest  you  thank- 
ful, than  I  shall  ever  undertake  to  answer.  One  reply,  how- 
ever, I  am  free  to  make  you." 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  hear  you,  sir." 

"  That  is  gracious,  surely,  on  the  part  of  the  accuser ; — 
and  now,  sir,  let  me  say,  I  admit  the  sometime  levity,  the 
playfulness  and  the  thoughtlessness,  perhaps.  I  shall  under- 
take to  reform  these,  when  you  shall  satisfy  me  that  to  laugh 
and  sing,  and  seek  and  afford  amusement,  are  inconsistent 
with  my  duties  either  to  the  Creator  or  the  creature.  On  this 
head,  permit  me  to  say  that  you  are  the  criminal,  not  me. 
It  is  you,  sir,  and  your  sect,  that  are  the  true  criminals. 
Denying,  as  you  do,  to  the  young,  all  those  natural  forms 
of  enjoyment  and  amusement  which  the  Deity,  speaking 
through  their  own  nature,  designed  for  their  wholesome 
nurture  you  cast  a  shadow  over  all  things  around  you.  In 
this  way,  sir,  you  force  them  upon  the  necessity  of  seeking  for 
less  obvious  and  more  artificial  enjoyments,  which  are  not 
often  innocent,  and  which  are  frequently  ruinous  and 
destructive.     As  for  the  irreverence  to  religion,  and  sacred 


THE  YEMASSEE.  59 

things,  with  which  you  charge  nie,  you  will  suffer  me  respect- 
fully to  deny.  This'  is  but  your  fancy,  reverend  sir ;  the  fruit 
of  your  false  views  of  things.  If  I  were  thus  irreverent  or 
irreligious  it  were  certainly  a  grievous  fault,  and  I  should  be 
grievously  sorry  for  it.  But  I  am  not  conscious  of  such  faults. 
I  have  no  reproaches  on  this  subject.  Your  church  is  not 
mine;  and  that  is  probably  a  fault  in  your  eyes;  but  I  offer 
no  scorn  or  disrespect  to  yours.  In  regard  to  manners  and 
morals,  there  is  no  doubt  something  to  be  amended,  in  my 
case,  as'Th  that  of  most  persons.  I  do  not  pretend  to  deny  that 
I  am  a  man  of  many  errors,  and  perhaps  some  vices.  You 
will  suffer  me  to  try  and  cure  these,  as  worldly  people  are  apt 
to  do,  gradually,  and  with  as  much  ease  to  myself  as  possible. 
I  am  not  more  fond  of  them,  I  honestly  think,  than  the  rest 
of  my  neighbours ;  and  hope,  some  day,  to  be  a  better  and  a 
wiser  man  than  I  am.  That  I  shall  never  be  a  Puritan,  how- 
ever, you  may  be  assured,  if  it  be  only  to  avoid  giving  to  my 
face  the  expression  of  a  pine  bur.  That  I  shall  never  love 
Cromwell  the  better  for  having  been  a  hypocrite  as  well  as  a 
murderer,  you  may  equally  take  for  granted;  and,  that  my 
dress,  unlike. your  own.  sir,  shall  be  fashioned  always  with 
a  due  reference  to  my  personal  becomingness,  you  and  I,  both, 
may  this  day  safely  swear  for.  These  are  matters,  Mr.  Mat- 
thews, upon  which  you  insist  with  too  much  solemnity.  I 
look  upon  them,  sir,  as  so  many  trifles,  not  worthy  the  close 
consideration  of  thinking  men.  I  will  convince  you,  before 
many  days,,  perhaps,  that  my  levity  does  not  unfit  me  for 
business — never  interferes  with  my  duties.  I  wear  it  as  I  do 
my  doublet;  when  it  suits  me  to  do  so,  I  throw  it  aside,  and 
proceed,  soul  and  body,  to  the  necessity  which  calls  for  it. 
Such,  sir,  is  Gabriel  Harrison — the  person  for  whom  you 
can  find  no  kindred — no  sponsor ;  an  objection,  perfectly  idle, 
sir,  when  one  thing  is  considered." 

Here  he  paused  somewhat  abruptly.  The  pastor  had  been 
taken  all  aback  by  the  cool  and  confident  speech  of  his  youth- 
ful companion,  whom  he  thought  to  have  silenced  entirely  by 
the  history  of  his  discoveries  in  Charleston — or  his  failure  to 
discover.  He  knew  not  well  what  to  answer,  and  for  a  brief 
and   awkward   moment  was    silent   himself.     But,   with   an 


60  THE  YEMASSEE. 

effort  at  composure  and  solemnity,  seizing  on  the  last  word  of 
Harrison's  speech,  he  said — 

"  And  pray,  sir,  what  may  that  one  thing  be  ?  " 

"  Why,  simply,  sir,  that  your  daughter  is  to  marry  Gabriel 
Harrison  himself,  and  not  his  kindred." 

"  Let  Gabriel  Harrison  rest  assured  that  my  daughter  does 
no  such  thing." 

"  Cha-no-selonee,  as  the  Yemassees  say.  We  shall  see.  I 
don't  believe  that.  Trust  not  your  vow,  Master  Matthews. 
Gabriel  Harrison  will  marry  your  daughter,  and  make  her 
an  excellent  husband,  sir,  in  spite  of  you.  More  than  that,  sir,. 
I  will,  for  once,  be  a  prophet  among  the  rest,  and  predict 
that  you  too  shall  clasp  hands  on  the  bargain." 

"  Indeed ! " 

"Ay,  indeed,  sir.  Look  not  so  sourly,  reverend  sir,  upon 
the  matter.  I  am  bent  on  it.  Y^ou  shall  not  destroy  your 
daughter's  chance  of  happiness  in  denying  mine.  Pardon 
me  if  my  phrase  is  something  audacious.  I  have  been  a  rover, 
and  my  words  come  with  my  feelings — I  seldom  stop  to  pick 
them.  I  love  Bess,  and  I'm  sure  I  can  make  her  happy. 
Believing  this,  and  believing  too  that  you  shall  be  satisfied, 
after  a  time,  with  me,  however  you  dislike  my  name,  I  shall 
not  suffer  myself  to  be  much  troubled  on  the  score  of  your 
refusal.  When  the  time  comes — when  I  can  see  my  way 
through  some  few  difficulties  now  before  me  and  when  I  have 
safely  performed  other  duties,  I  shall  come  to  possess  myself 
of  my  bride — and,  as  I  shall  then  give  you  up  my  secret,  I 
shall  look  to  have  her  at  your  hands." 

"We  shall  see,  sir,"  was  all  the  response  which  the 
bewildered  pastor  uttered  to  the  wild  visitor  who  had  thus 
addressed  him.  The  character  of  the  dialogue,  however,  did 
not  seem  so  greatly  to  surprise  him,  as  one  might  have 
expected.  He  appeared  to  be  rather  familiar  with  some  of 
the  peculiarities  of  his  companion,  and  however  much  he 
might  object  to  his  seeming  recklessness,  he  himself  was  not 
altogether  insensible  to  the  manly  frankness  which  marked 
Harrison's  conduct  throughout.  The  conversation  had  now 
fairly  terminated,  and  Harrison  seemed  in  no  humour  to 
continue  it  or  to  prolong  his  visit.  He  took  his  leave  accord- 
ingly.    The  pastor  followed  him  to  the  door  with  the  stiff 


THE  YEMASSEE.  61 

formality  of  one  who  appears  anxious  to  close  it  on  such  [a] 
visitor  for  ever.  Harrison  laughed  out  as  he  beheld  his  visage, 
and  his  words  of  leave-taking  were  as  light  and  lively  as  those 
of  the  other  were  lugubrious  and  solemn.  The  door  closed  upon 
the  guest.  The  pastor  strode  back  to  his  easy  chair  and  silent 
meditations.  But  he  was  aroused  by  Harrison's  return.  His 
expression  of  face,  no  longer  laughing,  was  now  singularly 
changed  to  a.  reflective  gravity. 

"  Mr^Matthews,"  said  he — "  of  one  thing  let  me  not  forget 
to  counsel  you.  There  is  some  mischief  afoot  among  the 
-Yemassees.  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  it  has  been  for 
some  time  in  progress.  We  shall  not  be  long,  I  fear,  without 
an  explosion,  and  must  be  prepared.  The  lower  Block  House 
would  be  your  safest  retreat  in  case  of  time  being  allowed  you 
for  flight;  but  I  pray  you  reject  no  warning,  and  take  the 
first  Bjock  House  if  the  warning  be  short.  I  shall  probably 
be  nigh,  however,  in  the  event  of  danger,  and  though  you  like 
not  the  name  of  Gabriel  Harrison,  its  owner  has  some  ability, 
and  wants  none  of  the  will  to  do  you  service." 

The  old  man  was  struck,  not  less  with  the  earnest  manner 
of  the  speaker,  so  unusual  with  him,  than  with  his/language; 
and,  with, something  more  of  deference  in  his  own  expression, 
begged  to  know  the  occasion  of  his  apprehensions. 

"  I  cannot  well  tell  you  now,"  said  the  other,  "  but  there 
are  reasons  enough  to  render  caution  advisable.  Your  eye 
has  probably  before  this  beheld  the  vessel  in  the  river.  She 
is  a  stranger,  and  I  think  an  enemy.  But  as  we  have  not  the 
means  of  contending  with  her  now,  we  must  watch  her  well, 
and  do  what  we  can  by  stratagem.  What  we  think,  too,  must 
be  thought  secretly;  but  to  you  I  may  say,  that  I  suspect  an 
agent  of  the  Spaniard  in  that  vessel,  and  will  do  my  utmost 
to  find  him  out.  I  know  that  sundry  of  the  Yemassees  have 
been  for  the  first  time  to  St.  x^ugustine,  and  they  have-  come 
home  burdened  with  gauds  and  gifts.  These  are  not  given  for 
nothing.  But,  enough — be  on  your  watch;  to  give  you  more 
of  my  confidence,  at  this  moment,  than  is  called  for,  is  no  part 
of  my  vocation." 

"  In  heaven's  name,  who  are  you,  sir  ?  "  was  the  earnest 
exclamation  of  the  old  pastor. 

Harrison  laughed  again  with  all  the  merry  mood  of  boy- 


62'  THE  YEMASSEE. 

hood.  In  the  next  moment  he  replied,  with  the  most  pro- 
found gravity  of  expression,  "  Gabriel  Harrison,  with  your 
leave,  sir,  and  the  future  husband  of  Bess  Matthews." 

In  another  moment,  not  waiting  any  answer,  he  was  gone, 
and  looking  back  as  he  darted  down  the  steps  and  into  the 
avenue,  he  caught  a  glance  of  the  maiden's  eye  peering 
through  a  neighbouring  window,  and  kissed  his  hand  to  her 
twice  and  thrice ;  then,  with  a  hasty  nod  to  the  wondering 
father,  who  now  began  to  regard  him  as  a  madman,  he  dashed 
forward  through  the  gate,  and  was  soon  upon  the  banks  of 
the  river. 


THE  TEMASSEE.  63 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Saxttee  turned  away  from  the  spot  whence  Harrison  had 
departed,  and  was  about  to  retire,  when,  not  finding  himself 
followed  by  Ishiagaska.  and  perceiving  the  approach  of  the 
sailor,  his  late  opponent,  and  not  knowing  what  to  expect, 
whether  peace  or  war,  he  again  turned,  facing  the  two.  and 
lifting  his  bow,  and  setting  his  arrow,  he  prepared  himself 
for  a  renewal  of  the  strife.  But  the  voice  of  the  sailor  and  of 
Ishiagaska.  at  the  same  moment,  reached  his  ears  in  language 
of  conciliation;  and.  resting  himself  slightly  against  a  tree, 
foregoing  none  of  his  precautions,  however,  with  a  cold  indif- 
ference he  awaited  their  approach.  The  seaman  addressed 
him  with  all  his  usual  bluntness,  but  with  a  manner  now 
very  considerably  changed  from  what  it  was  at  their  first 
encounter.  He  apologized  for  his  violence,  and  for  having 
slain  the  dog.  Had  he  known  to  whom  it  belonged,  so  he 
assured  the  chief,  he  had  not  been  so  hasty  in  despatching  it : 
and,  as  some  small  amends,  he  begged  the  Indian  to  do  with 
the  venison  as  he  thought  proper,  for  it  was  now  his  own. 
During  the  utterance  of  this  uncouth  apology,  mixed  up  as 
it  was  with  numberless  oaths.  Sanutee  looked  on  and  listened 
with  contemptuous  indifference.  When  it  was  done,  he  simply 
replied — 

"  It  is  well — but  the  white  man  will  keep  the  meat : — it  is 
not  for  Sanutee." 

"  Come,  come,  don't  be  ill-favoured  now.  old  warrior. 
What's  done  can't  be  undone,  and  more  ado  is  too  much  to 
do.  I'm  sure  I'm  sorry  enough  I  killed  the  dog,  but  how  was 
I  to  know  he  belonged  to  you  ?  " 

The  sailor  might  have  gone  on  for  some  time  after  this 
fashion,  had  not  Ishiagaska,  seeing  that  the  reference  to  his 
dog  only  the  more  provoked  the  ire  of  the  chief,  interposed 
by  an  address  to  the  sailor,  which  more  readily  commanded 
Sanutee's  consideration. 

"The  master  of  the  big  canoe — is  he  not  the  chief  that 


64  THE  YEMASSEE. 

comes  from  St.  Augustine?     Ishiagaska  has  looked  upon  the 
white  chief  in  the  great  lodge  of  his  Spanish  brother." 

"  Ay,  that  you  have,  Indian,  I'll  be  sworn ;  and  I  thought 
I  knew  you  from  the  first.  I  am  the  friend  of  the  Spanish 
governor,  and  I  come  here  now  upon  his  business." 

"  It  is  good/'  responded  Ishiagaska — and  he  turned  to 
Sanutee,  with  whom,  for  a  few  moments,  he  carried  on  a  con- 
versation in  their  own  language,  entirely  beyond  the  com- 
prehension of  the  sailor,  who  nevertheless  gave  it  all  due 
attention. 

"  Brings  the  master  of  the  big  canoe  nothing  from  our 
Spanish  brother  ?  Hides  he  no  writing  in  his  bosom  ?  "  was 
the  inquiry  of  Ishiagaska,  turning  from  Sanutee,  who  seemed 
to  have  prompted  the  inquiry. 

"  Writing  indeed — no — writing  to  wild  Indians."  The 
last  fragment  of  the  sentence  was  uttered  to  himself.  He 
continued  aloud,  "  ]\ow,  I  have  brought  you  no  writing,  but 
here  is  something  that  you  may  probably  understand  quite 
as  well.  Here — this  is  what  I  have  brought  you.  See  if  you 
can  read  it." 

As  he  spoke,  he  drew  from  his  bosom  a  bright  red  cloth — a 
strip,  not  over  six  inches  in  width,  but  of  several  yards  in 
length,  worked  over,  at  little  intervals,  with  symbols  and 
figures  of  every  kind  and  of  the  most  fantastic,  description — 
among  which  were  birds  and  beasts,  reptiles,  and  insects, 
rudely  wrought,  either  in  shells  or  beads,  which,  however 
grotesque,  had  yet  their  signification.  This  was  the  Belt  of 
Wampum  which  among  all  the  Indian  nations  formed  a, 
common  language,  susceptible  of  every  variety  of  use.  By 
this  instrument  they  were  taught  to  declare  hostility  and 
friendship,  war  and  peace.  Thus  were  their  treaties  made; 
and,  in  the  speeches  of  their  orators,  the  Belt  of  Wampum, 
given  at  the  conclusion  of  each  division  of  the  subject,  was 
made  to  asseverate  their  sincerity.  Each  tribe,  having  its 
own  hieroglyphic,  supposed  or  assumed  to  be  especially  char- 
acteristic, affixed  its  totem,  or  sign  manual,  to  such  a  belt  as 
that  brought  by  the  stranger;  and  this  mode  of  signature 
effectually  bound  it  to  the  conditions  which  the  other  signs 
may  have  expressed. 

The  features  of  the  chief,  Sanutee,  underwent  a  change 


THE  YEMASSEE.  65 

from  the  repose  of  indifference  to  the  lively  play  of  the 
warmest  interest,  as  he  beheld  the  long  folds  of  this  document 
slowly  unwind  before  his  eyes;  and,  without  a  word,  hastily 
snatching  it  from  the  hands  of  the  seaman,  he  had  nearly 
brought  upon  himself  another  assault  from  that  redoubted 
worthy.  But  as  he  made  a  show  of  that  sort,  Ishiagaska 
interposed. 

"  How  do  I  know  that  it  is  for  him — that  treaty  is  for  the 
chiefs  of  the  Yemassees;  and  blast  my  eyes  if  any  but  the 
■chiefs  shall  grapple  it  in  their  yellow  fingers." 

"  It  is  right — it  is  Sanutee,  the  great  chief  of  the  Yemas- 
sees; and  is  not  Ishiagaska  a  chief?"  replied  the  latter, 
impressively.  The  sailor  was  somewhat  pacified,  and  said  no 
more;  while  Sanutee,  who  seemed  not  at  all  to  have  heeded 
the  latter's  movement,  went  on  examining  each  figure  upon 
the  'folds  of  the  Wampum,  numbering  them  carefully  upon 
rris  fingers  as  he  did  so,  and  conferring  upon  their  characters 
with  Ishiagaska,  whose  own  curiosity  was  now  actively  at 
work  along  with  him  in  the  examination.  In  that  language, 
which  from  their  lips  is  so  sweet  and  sonorous,  they  conversed 
together,'  to  the  great  disquiet  of  the  seaman,  who  had  no  less 
curiosity  than  themselves  to  know  the  purport  of  the  instru- 
ment, and  the  opinions  of  the  chiefs  upon  it.  But  he  under- 
stood not  a  word  they  said. 

"  They  are  here,  Ishiagaska.  they  have  heard  the  speech  of 
the  true  warrior,  and  they  will  stand  together.  Look,  this 
green  bird  is  for  the  Estatoe  ;*  he  will  sing  death  in  the  sleep- 
ing ear  of  the  pale  warrior  of  the  English." 

"  He  is  a  great  brave  of  the  hills,  and  has  long  worn  the 
blanket  of  the  Spaniard.    It  is  good,"  was  the  reply. 

"  And  this  for  the  Cussoboe — it  is  burnt  timber.  They  took 
the  totem  from  the  Suwannee,  when  they  smoked  him  out 
of  his  lodge.  And  this  for  the  Alatamaha,  a  green  leaf  of  the 
summer,  for  the  great  prophet  of  the  Alatamaha  never  dies, 
and  looks  always  in  youth.  This  tree  snake  stands  for  the 
Serannah ;  for  he  watches  in  the  thick  top  of  the  bush  for 
the  warrior  that  walks  blind  underneath." 

*A  tribe  of  the  Cherokees,  living  in  what  is  now  Pendleton 
district  [Simms's  Note]. 


66  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"I  have  looked  on  this  chief  in  battle — the  hill  chief  of 
Apalachy.  It  was  the  fight  of  a  long  day,  when  we  took  scalps 
from  their  warriors,  and  slew  them  with  their  arms  about  our 
necks.  They  are  brave' — look,  the  mark  of  their  knife  is  deep 
in  the  cheek  of  Ishiagaska." 

"  The  hill  is  their  totem.  It  stands,  and  they  never  lie. 
This  is  the  wolf  tribe  of  the  Cherokee — and  this  the  bear's. 
Look,  the  Catawba,  that  laughs,  is  here.  He  speaks  with 
the  trick-tongue  of  the  Coonee-lattee  ;*  he  laughs,  but  he  can 
strike  like  a  true  brave,  and  sings  his  death-song  with  a  free 
spirit." 

"  For  whom  speaks  the  viper-snake,  hissing  from  under  the 
bush?" 

"  For  the  Creek  warrior  with  the  sharp  tooth,  that  tears. 
His  tooth  is  like  an  arrow,  and  when  he  tears  away  the  scalp 
of  his  enemy,  he  drinks  a  long  drink  of  his  blood,  that  makes 
him  strong.  This  is  their  totem — I  know  them  of  old;  they 
gave  us  sixty  braves  when  we  fought  with  the  Chickasahs." 

The  sailor  had  heard  this  dialogue  without  any  of  the 
advantages  possessed  by  us.  It  was  in  a  dead  language  to  him. 
Becoming  impatient,  and  desiring  to  have  some  hand  in  the 
business,  he  took  advantage  of  a  pause  made  by  Sanutee — who 
now  seemed  to  examine  with  Ishiagaska  more  closely  the  list 
they  had  read  out — to  suggest  a  more  rapid  progress  to  the 
rest. 

"  Eoll  them  out,  chief ;  roll  them  out ;  there  are  many  more 
yet  to  come.  Snakes,  and  trees,  and  birds,  and  beasts  enough 
to  people  the  best  show-stall  of  Europe." 

"  It  is  good,"  said  Sanutee,  who  understood  in  part  what 
had  been  said;  and,  as  suggested,  the  Yemassee  proceeded  to 
unfold  the  wampum,  at  full  length,  though  now  he  exhibited 
less  curiosity  than  before.  The  residue  of  the  hieroglyphics 
were  those  chiefly  of  tribes  and  nations  of  which  he  had  been 
previously  secure.  He  continued,  however,  as  if  rather  for 
the  stranger's  satisfaction  than  his  own. 

"Here,"  said  he,  continuing  the  dialogue  in  his  own  lan- 

*  The  mocking-bird.  The  Catawbas  were  of  a  generous,  elastic, 
and  lively  temperament,  and,  until  the  Yemassee  outbreak,  usually 
the  friends  of  the  Carolinians   [Simms's  Note]. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  6? 

guage  with  Ishiagaska,  "  here  is  the  Sahitah*  that  falls  like 
the  water.  He  is  a  stream  from  the  rock.  This  is  the 
Isundigaf  that  goes  on  his  belly,  and  shoots  from  the  hollow 
— this  is  the  Santee,  he  runs  in  the  long  canoe,  and  his  paddle 
is  a  cane,  that  catches  the  tree  top,  and  thus  he  goes  through 
the  dark  swamps  of  Serattaya.t  The  Chickaree  stands  up  in 
the  pine,  and  the  Winyah  is  here  in  the  terrapin/5 

"  ^Tsav,  chief,"  said  the  sailor,  pointing  to  the  next  symbol, 
which  was  an  arrow  of  considerable  length,  and  curved  almost 
to  a  crescent,  "  I  say,  chief,  tell  us  what  this  arrow  means 
here — I  know  it  stands  for  some  nation,  but  what  nation? 
and  speak  now  in  plain  English,  if  you  can,  or  in  Spanish,  or 
in'  French,  which  I  can  make  out,  but  not  in  that  d — d  gib- 
berish which  is  all  up  side  down  and  in  and  out,  and  no  ways 
at  all,  to  my  understanding." 

The  chief  comprehended  the  object  of  the  sailor,  though 
'less  from  his  words  than  his  looks:  and  with  an  elevation  of 
head  and  gesture,  and  a  fine  kindling  of  the  eye,  he  replied 
proudly : 

"  It  is  the  arrow,  the  arrow  that  came  with  the  storm — 
it  came  from  the  Manneyto  to  the  brave,  to  the  well-beloved, 
the  old  father-chief  of  the  Yemassee." 

"  Ah,  ha  !  so  that's  your  mark — totem,  you  call  it  ?  Well, 
it's  a  pretty  long  thing  to  burrow  in  one's  ribs,  and  reminds 
me  of  the  fellow  to  it,  that  you  so  kindly  intended  for  mine. 
But  that's  over  now — so  no  more  of  it,  old  chief." 

Xeither  of  the  Indians  appeared  to  heed  the  speech  of  the 
sailor.  They  were  too  much  interested  by  one  of  the  signs 
which  now  met  their  eyes  upon  the  belt,  and  which  they  did 
not  seem  to  comprehend.  Sanutee  first  called  the  attention 
of  his  brother  chief  to  the  symbol,  and  both  were  soon  busy  in 
eager  inquiry.  They  uttered  their  doubts  and  opinions  in 
their  own  language  with  no  little  fluency ;  for  it  is  something 
of  a  popular  error  to  sruppose  the  Indian  that  taciturn  char- 
acter  which   he   is   sometimes   represented.      He   is   a   great 

*  Salutah,  now  written  Saluda,  and  signifying  Corn  river 
[Simms's  Note]. 

f  Isundiga,  or   Savannah    [Simms's  Note]. 

t  Near  Nelson's  ferry  and  Scott's  lake  on  the  Santee  [Simms's 
Note]. 


68  THE  YEMASSEE. 

speech-maker,  and  when  serious  business  claims  him  not,  is 
exceedingly  fond  of  a  jest ;  which,  by  the  way,  is  not  often  the 
purest  in  its  nature.  The  want  of  our  language  is  a  very 
natural  reason  why  he  should  be  sparing  of  his  words  when 
he  speaks  with  us,  and  a  certain  suspicious  reserve  is  the 
consequence  of  a  certain  awkward  sense  of  inferiority. 

The  bewilderment  of  the  chiefs  did  not  escape  the  notice  of 
the  sailor,  who  immediately  guessed  its  occasion.  The  symbol 
before  their  eyes  was  that  of  Spain;  the  high  turrets,  and  the 
wide  towers  of  its  castellated  dominion,  frowning  in  gold,  and 
finely  embroidered  upon  the  belt,  directly  below  the  simpler 
ensign  of  the  Yemassees.  Explaining  the  mystery  to  their 
satisfaction,  the  contrast  between  its  gorgeous  embodiments 
and  vaster  associations  of  human  agency  and  power,  neces- 
sarily influenced  the  imagination  of  the  European,  while 
wanting  every  thing  like  force  to  the  Indian,  to  whom  a  lodge 
so  vast  and  cheerless  in  its  aspect,  seemed  rather  an  absurdity 
than  any  thing  else ;  and  he  could  not  help  dilating  upon  the 
greatness  and  magnificence  of  a  people  dwelling  in  such 
houses. 

"  That's  a  nation  for  you  now,  chiefs — that  is  the  nation 
after  all/5 

"  The  Yemassee  is  the  nation,"  said  one  of  the  chiefs 
proudly. 

"  Yes,  perhaps  so,  in  this  part  of  the  world,  a  great  nation 
enough;  but  in  Europe  you  wouldn't  be  a  mouthful — a  mere 
drop  in  the  bucket — a  wounded  porpoise,  flirting  about  in  the 
mighty  seas  that  must  swallow  it  up.  Ah !  it's  a  great  honour, 
chiefs,  let  me  tell  you,  when  so  great  a  king  as  the  King  of 
Spain  condescends  to  make  a  treaty  with  a  wild  people  such 
as  you  are  here." 

Understanding  but  little  of  all  this,  Sanutee  did  not  per- 
ceive its  disparaging  tendency,  but  simply  pointing  to  the 
insignia,  inquired — 

"  It  is  the  Spanish  totem  ?  " 

"  Ay,  it's  their  sign — their  arms — if  that's  what  you  mean 
by  totem.  It  was  a  long  time  before  the  Governor  of  Saint 
Augustine  could  get  it  done  after  your  fashion,  till  an  old 
squaw  of  the  Cherokees  fixed  it  up.  and  handsomely  enough 
she  has  done  it  too.     And  now,  chiefs,  the  sooner  we  go  to 


THE  YEMASSEE.  69 

work  the  better.    The  governor  has  put  his  hand  to  the  treaty, 
he  will  find  the  arms,  and  you  the  warriors." 

"  The  Yemassee  will  speak  to  the  governor,"  said  Sanutee. 

"  You  will  have  to  go  to  Saint  Augustine,  then,  for  he  has 
sent  me  in  his  place.  I  have  brought  the  treaty,  and  the  arms 
are  in  my  vessel  ready  for  your  warriors,  whenever  they  are 
reactT  to  sound  the  warwhoop." 

"  Does  Sanutee  speak  to  a  chief  ?  " 

"Ay,  that  he  does,  or  my  name  is  not  Eichard  Chorley.  I 
am  a  sea  chief,  a  chief  of  the  great  canoe,  and  captain  of 
as  pretty  a  crew  as  ever  riddled  a  merchantman/' 

u  I  see  not  the  totem  of  your  tribe." 

"  My  tribe  ?  "  said  the  sailor  laughingly — "  My  crew,  you 
mean.  Yes,  they  have  a  totem,  and  as  pretty  a  one  as  any  on 
your  roll.  There,  look,"  said  he,  and  as  he  spoke,  rolling  up 
Jiis  sleeve,  he  displayed  a  huge  anchor  upon  his  arm,  done  in 
gunpowder.  This  was  the  sort  of  writing  which  they  could 
understand.  That  it  was  worked  on  the  body  of  the  sailor, 
worked  into  his  skin,  was  making  the  likeness  more  perfect, 
and  the  bearing  of  the  red  chiefs  towards  the  sea  captain 
became  in  consequence  more  decidedly  favourable/ 

"  And  now,"  said  Chorley,  "  it  is  well  I  have  some  of  my 
marks  about  me,  for  I  can  easily  put  my  signature  to  that 
treaty  without  scrawl  of  pen,  or  taking  half  the  trouble  that 
it  must  have  given  the  worker  of  these  beads.  But,  hear  me, 
chiefs,  I  don't  work  for  nothing ;  I  must  have  my  pay,  and  as 
it  don't  come  out  of  your  pockets,  I  look  to  have  no  refusal." 

"  The  chief  of  the  great  canoe  will  speak." 

"  Yes,  and  first  to  show  that  I  mean  to  act  as  well  as  speak, 
here  is  my  totem — the  totem  of  my  crew  or  tribe  as  you  call 
it.  I  put  it  on,  and  trust  to  have  fair  play  out  of  you."  As 
he  spoke,  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  small  leaden  anchor,  such 
as  are  now-a-days  numbered  among  the  playthings  of  children, 
but  which  at  that  period  made  no  unfrequent  ornament  to  the 
seaman's  jacket.  A  thorn  from  a  neighbouring  branch 
secured  it  to  the  wampum,  and  the  engagement  of  the  sea  chief 
was  duly  ratified.  Having  done  this,  he  proceeded  to  unfold 
his  expectations.  He  claimed,  among  other  things,  in  con- 
sideration of  the  service  of  himself  and  the  fifteen  men  whom 
he  should  command  in  the  insurrection,  the  possession  of  all 


70  THE  YEMASSEE. 

slaves  who  should  be  taken  by  him  from  the  Carolinians ;  and 
that,  unless  they  offered  resistance,  they  should  not  be  slain 
in  the  war. 

"  I  don't  want  better  pay  than  that/'  said  he,  "  but  that 
I  must  and  will  have,  or  d — n  the  blow  I  strike  in  the 
matter/' 

The  terms  of  the  seaman  had  thus  far  undergone  develop- 
ment, when  Sanutee  started  suddenly,  and  his  eyes,  lighten- 
ing seemingly  with  some  new  interest,  were  busied  in 
scrutinizing  the  little  circuit  of  wood  on  the  edge  of  which 
their  conservation  had  been  carried  on.  Ishiagaska  betrayed 
a  similar  consciousness  of  an  intruder's  presence,  and  the 
wampum  belt  was  rolled  up  hurriedly  by  one  of  the  chiefs, 
while  the  other  maintained  his  watchfulness  upon  the  brush 
from  whence  the  interruption  appeared  to  come.  There  was 
some  reason  for  the  alarm,  though  the  unpractised  sense  of 
the  white  man  had  failed  to  perceive  it.  It  was  there  that 
our  old  acquaintance,  Hector,  despatched  as  a  spy  upon  the 
progress  of  those  whom  his  master  suspected  to  be  engaged  in 
mischief,  had  sought  concealment  while  seeking  his  informa- 
tion. Unfortunately  for  the  black,  as  he  crept  along  on 
hands  and  knees,  a  fallen  and  somewhat  decayed  tree  lay 
across  his  path,  some  of  the  branches  of  which  protruded 
entirely  out  of  the  cover,  and  terminated  within  sight  of 
the  three  conspirators,  upon  the  open  plain.  In  crawling, 
-cautiously  enough,  over  the  body  of  the  tree,  the  branches 
thus  exposed  were  agitated,  and,  though  but  slightly,  yet  suf- 
ficiently for  the  keen  sight  of  an  Indian  warrior.  Hector, 
all  the  while  ignorant  of  the  protrusion  within  their  gaze 
of  the  agitated  members — in  his  anxiety  to  gain  more  of  the 
latter  words  of  the  sailor,  so  interesting  to  his  own  color,  and 
a  portion  of  which  had  met  his  ear — incautiously  pushed 
forward  over  the  tree,  crawling  all  the  way  like  a  snake, 
and  seeking  to  shelter  himself  in  a  little  clump  that  inter- 
posed itself  between  him  and  those  he  was  approaching.  As 
he  raised  his  head  above  the  earth,  he  beheld  the  glance  of 
Sanutee  fixed  upon  the  very  bush  behind  which  he  lay;  the 
bow  uplifted,  and  his  eye  ranging  from  stem  to  point  of  the 
long  arrow.  In  a  moment  the  negro  sunk  to  the  level  of  the 
ground;  but,  in  doing  so  precipitately  disturbed  still  more 


THE  YEMASSEE.  71 

the  branches  clustering  around  him.  The  lapse  of  a  few 
moments  without  any  assault,  persuaded  Hector  to  believe 
that  all  danger  was  passed;  and  he  was  just  about  to  lift  his 
head  for  another  survey,  when  he  felt  the  entire  weight  of  a 
heavy  body  upon  his  back.  While  the  black  had  lain  quiet, 
in  those  few  moments,  Sanutee  had  swept  round  a  turn  in 
the^svoods,  and  with  a  single  bound,  after  noticing  the  person 
of  the  spy,  had  placed  his  foot  upon  him. 

"  Hello,  now,  wha'  de  debble  dat  ?    Git  off,  I  tell  you.    Dis 
dah  Hector!     Wha'  for  you  trouble  Hector?" 

Thus  shouting  confusedly,  the  negro,  taken  in  the  very 
act,  with  a  tone  of  mixed  fear  and  indignation,  addressed 
his  assailant,  while  struggling  violently  all  the  time  at  his 
extrication.  His  struggles  only  enabled  him  to  see  his  captor, 
who,  calling  out  to  Ishiagaska,  in  a  moment,  with  his  assist- 
■ance,  dragged  forth  the  spy  from  his  unconcealing  cover. 
To  do  Hector's  courage  all  manner  of  justice,  he  battled  vio- 
lently; threatening  his  captors  dreadfully  with  the  vengeance 
of  his  master.  But  his  efforts  ceased  as  the  hatchet  of 
Ishiagaska  gleamed  over  his  eyes,  and  he  was  content — save  in 
words,  which  he  continued  to  pour  forth  with  no  Httle  fluency 
— to  forego  his  further  opposition  to  the  efforts  which  they 
now  made  to  keep  him  down,  while  binding  his  arms  behind 
him  with  a  thong  of  hide  which  Ishiagaska  readily  produced. 
The  cupidity  of  Chorley  soon  furnished  them  with  a  plan  for 
getting  rid'  of  him.  Under  his  suggestion,  driving  the 
prisoner  before  them,  with  the  terrors  of  knife  and  hatchet, 
they  soon  reached  the  edge  of  the  river,  and,  after  a  little 
search,  they  found  the  place,  Rattlesnake  Point,  where  the 
cruiser's  boat  had  been  stationed  in  waiting.  With  the  assist- 
ance of  the  two  sailors  in  it,  the  seats  were  taken  up,  and  the 
captive,  kicking,  struggling,  and  threatening,  and  all  in  vain, 
was  tumbled  in;  the  seats  were  replaced  above  him,  the  sea- 
men squatted  upon  them;  and  every  chance  of  a  long  cap- 
tivity, and  that  foreign  slavery  against  which  his  master  had 
forewarned  him,  was  the  melancholy  prospect  in  his  thoughts. 
The  further  arrangements  between  the  chiefs  and  the  sailor 
took  place  on  shore,  and  out  of  Hector's  hearing.  In  a  little 
while  it  ceased — the  Yemassees  took  their  way  up  the  river  to 
Pocota-ligo,  while  Chorley,  returning  to  his  boat,  bringing 


72*  THE  YEMASSEE. 

the  deer  along — which  he  tumbled  in  upon  the  legs  of  the 
negro — took  his  seat  in  the  stern,  and  the  men  pulled  steadily 
off  for  the  vessel,  keeping  nigh  the  opposite  shore,  and  avoid- 
ing that  side  upon  which  the  settlements  of  the  Carolinians 
were  chiefly  to  be  found.  As  they  pursued  their  way,  a  voice 
hailed  them  from  the  banks,  to  which  the  sailor  gave  no 
reply,  but  immediately  changing  the  direction  of  the  boat, 
put  ber  instantly  into  the  centre  of  the  stream.  But  the  voice 
was  known  to  Hector  as  that  of  Granger,  the  Indian  trader, 
and  with  a  desperate  effort,  raising  his  head  from  the  uncom- 
fortable place  where  it  had  been  laid  on  a  dead  level  with  his 
body,  he  yelled  out  to  the  trader,  with  his  utmost  pitch  of 
voice,  vainly  endeavouring,  through  the  mists  of  evening, 
which  now  hung  heavily  around,  to  make  out  the  person  to 
whom  he  spoke.  A  salutary  blow  from  the  huge  fist  of  the 
sailor,  driven  into  the  uprising  face  of  the  black,  admonished 
him  strongly  against  any  future  imprudence,  while  forcing 
him  back,  with  all  the  force  of  a  sledge-hammer,  to  the  shelter 
of  his  old  position.  There  was  no  reply,  that  the  negro  heard, 
to  his  salutation;  and,  in  no  long  time  after,  the  vessel  was 
reached.  Hector  was  soon  consigned  to  a  safe  quarter  in  the 
hold,  usually  provided  for  such  freight,  and  kept  to  await 
the  arrival  of  as  many  companions  in  captivity,  as  the  present 
enterprise  of  the  pirate  captain,  for  such  is  Master  Eichard 
Chorley,  promised  to  procure. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  73 


CHAPTER  IX. 

'The  boats,  side  by  side,  of  Sanutee  and  Ishiagaska,  crossed 
the  river  at  a  point  just  below  Pocota-ligo.  It  was  there 
that  Sanutee  landed— the  other  chief  continued  his  progress 
to  the  town.  But  a  few  words,  and  those  of  stern  resolve, 
passed  between  them  at  separation;  but  those  words  were 
volumes  in  Yemassee  history.  They  were  the  words  of  revolu- 
tion and  strife,  and  announced  the  preparation  of  the  people 
not  less  than  of  the  two  chiefs,  for  the  commencement,  with 
brief  delay,  of  that  struggle  with  their  English  neighbours, 
which  was  now  the  most  prominent  idea  in  their  minds.  The 
night  was  fixed  among  them  for  the  outbreak,  the  several 
commands  arranged,  and  the  intelligence  brought  by  the 
sailor  •  informed  them  of  a  contemplated  attack  of  the  Span- 
iards by  sea  upon  the  Carolinian  settlements,  while,  at  the 
same  time,  another  body  was  in  progress,  over  land,  to  coalesce 
with  them  in  their  operations.  This  latter  force  could  not 
be  very  far  distant,  and  it  was  understood  that  when  the 
scouts  should  return  with  accounts  of  its  approach,  the  signal 
should  be  given  for  the  general  massacre. 

"  They  shall  die — they  shall  all  perish,  and  their  scalps  shall 
shrivel  around  the  long  pole  in  the  lodge  of  the  warrior/' 
exclaimed  Ishiagaska,  fiercely,  to  his  brother  chief,  still  speak- 
ing in  their  own  language.  The  response  of  Sanutee  was  in 
a  different  temper,  though  recognising  the  same  necessity. 

"The  Yemassee  must  be  free,"  said  the  elder  chief, 
'solemnly,  in  his  sonorous  tones — "  The  Manneyto  will  bring 
him  freedom — he  will  take  the  burden  from  his  shoulders, 
and  set  him  up  against  the  tree  by  the  wayside.  He  will  put 
the  bow  into  his  hands— he  will  strengthen  him  for  the  chase ; 
there  shall  be  no  pale-faces  along  the  path  to  rob  him  of 
venison — to  put  blows  upon  his  shoulders.  The  Yemassee 
shall  be  free." 


74  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  He  shall  drink  blood  for  strength.  He  shall  hunt  the 
track  of  the  English  to  the  shores  of  the  big  waters;  and 
the  war-whoop  shall  ring  death  in  the  ear  that  sleeps/'  cried 
Ishiagaska,  with  a  furious  exultation. 

"  Let  them  go,  Ishiagaska,  let  them  go  from  the  Yemassee 
— let  the  warrior  have  no  stop  in  the  chase,  when  he  would 
strike  the  brown  deer  on  the  edge  of  the  swamp.  Let  them 
leave  the  home  of  the  Yemassee,  and  take  the  big  canoe 
over  the  waters,  and  the  tomahawk  of  Sanutee  shall  be  buried 
— it  should  drink  no  blood  from  the  English." 

"  They  will  not  go,"  exclaimed  the  other  fiercely — "  there 
must  be  blood — the  white  man  will  not  go.  His  teeth  are  in 
the  trees,  and  he  eats  into  the  earth  for  his  own." 

"  Thou  hast  said,  Ishiagaska — there  must  be  blood — they 
will  not  go.  The  knife  of  the  Yemassee  must  be  red.  But — 
not  yet — not  yet !  The  moon  must  sleep  first — the  Yemassee 
is  a  little  child  till  the  moon  sleeps,  but  then — " 

"  He  is  a  strong  man,  with  a  long  arrow,  and  a  tomahawk 
like  the  Manneyto." 

"  It  is  good — the  arrow  shall  fly  to  the  heart,  and  the 
tomahawk  shall  sink  deep  into  the  head.  The  Yemassee  shall 
have  his  lands,  and  his  limbs  shall  be  free  in  the  hunt." 

Thus,-  almost  in  a  strain  of  lyric  enthusiasm,  for  a  little 
while  they  continued,  until,  having  briefly  arranged  for  a 
meeting  with  other  chiefs  of  their  party  for  the  day  ensuing, 
they  separated,  and  the  night  had  well  set  in  before  Sanutee 
reappeared  in  the  cabin  of  his  wife. 

He  returned  gloomy  and  abstracted — his  mind  brooding 
over  schemes  of  war  and  violence.  He  was  about  to  plunge 
his  nation  into  all  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  a  strife  with 
the  colony,  still  in  its  infancy,  but  even  in  its  infancy,  power- 
ful to  the  Indians — with  a  people  with  whom  they  had, 
hitherto,  always  been  at  peace  and  on  terms  of  the  most 
friendly  intercourse.  Sanutee  felt  the  difficulties  of  this 
former  relation  doubly  to  increase  those  which  necessarily 
belong  to  war.  He  had,  however,  well  deliberated  the  matter, 
and  arrived  at  a  determination,  so  fraught  with  peril  not  only 
to  himself  but  to  his  people,  only  after  a  perfect  conviction  of 
its  absolute  necessity.  Yet,  such  a  decision  was  a  severe  trial 
to  a  spirit  framed  as  his — a  spirit,  which,  as  in  the  case  of 


THE  YEMASSEE.  75 

Logan,*  desired  peace  rather  than  war.  The  misfortune  with 
him,  however,  consisted  in  this,  that  he  was  a  patriot  rather 
than  a  sage,  and,  though  lacking  nothing  of  that  wisdom  which 
may  exist  in  the  soul  of  the  true  and  excited  patriot;  constitut- 
ing/~when  it  does  so,  the  very  perfection  of  statesmanship, — he 
yet  could  not  coolly  contemplate  what  he  was  about  to  do, 
without  misgiving  and  great  anxiety.     The  schemes  in  which 

-  he  had  involved  himself,  were  big  with  the  fate  of  his  own  and 
another  people;  and  seeing  what  were  the  dangers  of  his 
attempt,  his  whole  thought  was  necessarily  given  to  the  duty 
of  lessening  and  averting  them.  But  this  was  not  the  sole 
cause  of  anxiety.  It  was  with  a  sentiment  rather  more 
Christian  than  Indian  that  he  recalled  the  ties  and  associa- 
tions which  he  himself,  as  well  as  his  people,  had  formed  with 
the  whites  generally,  and  especially  with  individuals  among 
them,  at  the  first  coming  of  the  European  settlers.  Ignorant 
of  their  power,  their  numbers,  their  arts,  their  ambition,  he 
had  been  friendly,  had  cordially  welcomed  them,  yielded  the 
lands  of  his  people  graciously,  and  when  the  whites  were 
assailed   by   other   tribes,   had   himself   gone   forth   in   their 

^  battle  even  against  the  Spaniards  of  St.  Augustine,  with 
whom  h,e  now-found  it  politic  to  enter  into  alliance.  But  his 
eyes  were  now  fully  opened  to  his  error.     It  is  in  the  nature 

*  Probably  George  Logan,  the  American  scientist  and  politi- 
cian who  in  1798,  when  our  diplomatic  relations  with  France 
were  broken  off  and  war  seemed  inevitable,  conceived  the  idea 
of  visiting  France  and  attempting  to  avert  privately  the  threat- 
ened conflict.  He  took  with  him  letters  from  many  prominent 
men  in  the  United  States,  we  are  told,  and,  after  being  well 
received  by  Talleyrand  and  other  influential  Frenchmen,  finally 
succeeded  in  inducing  the  French  government  to  release  its 
American  prisoners  and  to  annul  its  embargo  on  American  mer- 
chandise. But  though  he  thus  prepared  the  way  for  negotiations 
which  resulted  in  the  re-establishment  of  friendly  relations 
between  France  and  the  United  States,  his  act  was  regarded  by 
the  president  of  the  United  States  and  his  cabinet  as  an  unwar- 
rantable meddling  in  the  affairs  of  government.  Accordingly 
he  was  severely  rebuked  by  Washington,  then  commander-in-chief 
of  the  national  army,  and  an  act,  known  as  the  Logan  Act,  was 
later  passed  by  Congress,  making  it  a  misdemeanor  for  any  per- 
son not  properly  accredited  by  the  government  to  institute  nego- 
tiations with  a  foreign  power  in  order  to  influence  its  relations 
with  the  United  States. 


76  THE  YEMASSEE. 

of  civilization  to  own  an  appetite  for  dominion  and  extended 
sway,  which  the  world  that  is  known  will  always  fail  to 
satisfy.  It  is  for  her,  then,  to  seek  and  to  create,  and  not 
with  the  Macedonian  madman,*  to  weep  for  the  triumph  of 
the  unknown  Conquest  and  sway  are  the  great  leading  princi- 
ples of  her  existence,  and  the  savage  must  join  in  her  train,  or 
she  rides  over  him  relentlessly  in  her  onward  progress. 
Though  slow,  perhaps,  in  her  approaches,  Sanutee  was  sage 
enough  at  length  to  perceive  all  this,  as  the  inevitable  result 
of  her  progressive  march.  The  evidence  rose  daily  before  his 
eyes  in  the  diminution  of  the  game — in  the  frequent  insults 
to  his  people,  unredressed  by  their  obtrusive  neighbours — 
and  in  the  daily  approach  of  some  new  borderer  among  them, 
whose  habits  were  foreign,  and  whose  capacities  were  obviously 
superior  to  theirs.  The  desire  for  new  lands,  and  the  facility 
with  which  the  whites,  in  many  cases,  taking  advantage  of 
the  weaknesses  of  the  Indian  chiefs,  had  been  enabled  to  pro- 
cure them,  impressed  Sanutee  strongly  with  the  melancholy 
prospect  in  reserve  for  the  Yemassee.  He,  probably,  would 
not  live  to  behold  them  landless,  and  his  own  children  might, 
to  the  last,  have  range  enough  for  the  chase;  but  the  nation 
itself  was  in  the  thought  of  the  unselfish  chieftain,  upon  whom 
its  general  voice  had  conferred  the  title  of  "  the  well-beloved 
of  the  Manneyto." 

He  threw  himself  upon  the  bearskin  of  his  cabin,  and 
Matiwan  stood  beside  him.  She  was  not  young — she  was  not 
beautiful,  but  her  face  was  softly  brown,  and  her  eye  was  dark, 
while  her  long  black  hair  came  down  her  back  with  a  flow  of 
girlish  luxuriance.  Her  face  was  that  of  a  girl,  still  round 
and  smooth,  and  though  sorrow  had  made  free  with  it,  the 
original  expression  must  have  been  one  of  extreme  liveliness. 
Even  now,  when  she  laughed,  and  the  beautiful  white  teeth 
glittered  through  her  almost  purple  lips,  she  wore  all  the 
expression  of  a  child.  The  chief  loved  her  as  a  child  rather 
than  as  a  wife,  and  she  rather  adored  than  loved  the  chief. 
At  this  moment,  however,  as  she  stood  before  him,  robed 

*  Alexander  the  Great,  king  of  Macedon,  who  lived  between 
356  and  323  B.  C.  Of  him  it  is  said  that,  after  overcoming  all  of 
the  then  known  world,  he  sat  down  on  the  banks  of  the  River 
Indus  and  wept  that  there  were  no  other  worlds  to  conquer. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  77 

loosely  in  her  long  white  garment,  and  with  an  apron  of  the 
soft  skin  of  the  spotted  fawn,  he  had  neither  words  nor  looks 
for  Matiwan.  She  brought  him  a  gonrd  filled  with  a  simple 
beer- common  to  their  people,  and  extracted  from  the  pleas- 
anter  roots  of  the  forest,  with  the  nature  of  which,  all  Indians, 
in  their  rude  pharmacy,  are  familiar.  Unconsciously  he 
drank  off  the  beverage,  and,  without  speaking,  returned  the 
gourd  to  the  woman.     She  addressed  him  inquiringly  at  last. 

"  The  chief,  Sanutee,  has  sent  an  arrow  from  his  bow,  yet 
brings  he  no  venison  from  the  woods  ?  " 

The  red  of  his  cheek  grew  darker,  as  the  speech  reminded 
him  of  his  loss,  not  only  of  dog,  but  deer ;  and  though  the  sailor 
had  proffered  him  the  meat,  which  his  pride  had  compelled 
'him  to  reject,  he  could  not  but  feel  that  he  had  been  defrauded 
of  the  spoils  of  the  chase,  which  were  in  reality  his  own. 
Reminded  at  the  same  time  of  the  loss  of  his  favourite  dog, 
the  chief  replied  querulously: 

"  Has  M atiwan  been  into  the  tree-top  to-day,  for  the  voice 
of  the  bird  which  is  painted,  that  she  must  sing  with  a  foolish 
noise  in  the  ear  of  Sanutee  ?  " 

The  woman  was  rebuked  into  silence  for  the  moment,  but 
with  a  knowledge  of  his  mood,  she  sank  back  directly  behind 
him,  upon  a  corner  of  the  bearskin,  and,  after  a  few  prefatory 
notes,  as  if  singing  for  her  own  exercise  and  amusement,  she 
carolled  forth  in  an  exquisite  ballad  voice,  one  of  those  little 
fancies  of  the  Indians,  which  may  be  found  among  nearly  all 
the  tribes  from  Carolina  to  Mexico.  It  recorded  the  achieve- 
ments of  that  Puck  of  the  American  forests,  the  mocking- 
bird; and  detailed  the  manner  in  which  he  procured  his 
imitative  powers.  The  strain,  playfully  simple  in  the  sweet 
language  of  the  original,  must  necessarily  lose  in  the  more 
frigid  verse  of  the  translator. 

THE   "  COONEE-LATEE,"   OR   "TRICK-TONGUE." 

I. 

"As  the  Coonee-latee  looked  forth  from  his  leaf, 
He  saw  below  him  a  Yemassee  chief, 

In  his  war-paint,  all  so  grim — ■ 
Sung  boldly,  then,  the  Coonee-latee, 
I,  too,  will  seek  for  mine  enemy; 


78  THE  YEMASSEE. 

And  when  the  young  moon  grows  dim, 
I'll  slip  through  the  leaves,  nor  shake  them, — 
I'll  come  on  my  foes,  nor  wake  them, — 

And  I'll  take  off  their  scalps  like  him. 

II. 

"  In  the  forest  grove,  where  the  young  birds  slept, 
Slyly  by  night,  through  the  leaves  he  crept, 

With   a   footstep   free   and   bold — 
From  bush  to  bush,  and  from  tree  to  tree, 
They  lay,  wherever  his  eye  could  see, 

The  bright,  the  dull,  the  young,  and  the  old; 
I'll  cry  my  war-whoop,  said  he,  at  breaking 
The  sleep,  that  shall  never  know  awaking, 

And  their*  hearts  shall  soon  grow  cold. 

III. 

"  But,  as  nigher  and  nigher  the  spot  he  crept, 
And  saw  that  with  open  mouth  they  slept, 

The  thought  grew  strong  in  his  brain — 
And  from  bird  to  bird,  with  a  cautious  tread, 
He  unhook'd  the  tongue,  out  of  every  head, 

Then  flew  to  his  perch  again;  — 
And  thus  it  is,  whenever  he  chooses, 
The  tongues  of  all  of  the  birds  he  uses, 

And  none  of  them  dare  complain."* 

The  silly  little  ballad  may  have  had  its  effect  in  soothing 
the  humours  of  the  chief,  for  which  it  was  intended:  but 
he  made  no  remark.  Though  sad  and  vacant  of  look,  he 
seemed  soothed,  however,  and  when  a  beautiful  pet  fawn 
bounded  friskingly  into  the  lodge,  from  the  enclosure  which 
adjoined  it,  and  leaped  playfully  upon  him,  as,  with  an 
indulged  habit,  he  encouraged  its  caresses.  The  timid  Mati- 
wan,  herself,  after  a  little  while,  encouraged  by  this  show  of 
good  nature,  proceeded  to  approach  him  also.  She  drew 
nigh  to  him  in  silence, — still  behind  him,  and  hesitatingly, 
her  hand  at  length  rested  upon  his  shoulder.  To  the  liberty 
thus  taken  with  a  great  chief,  there  was  no  objection  made : 
but  at  the  same  time,  there  was  no  acknowledgment  or  return, 
no  recognition.  Sanutee,  silent  and  meditative,  uncon- 
sciously, it  would  seem,  suffered  his  own  hand  to  glide  over 

*  The  grove  is  generally  silent  when  the  mocking-bird  sings 
[Simms's  Note], 


THE  YEMASSEE.  79 

the  soft  skin  and  shrinking  neck  of  the  fawn.  The  animal 
grew  more  familiar  and  thrust  his  nose  into  his  face  and 
bosom,  a  liberty  which  Matiwan,  the  wife,  was  seldom  embold- 
ened to  attempt.  Suddenly,  however,  the  warrior  started, 
and  thrust  the  now  affrighted  animal  away  from  him  with 
violence. 

"  Woman !  "  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  "  the  white 
trader  has  been  in  the  lodge  of  Sanutee." 

"  No  !  no  !  Sanutee, — the  white  trader, — no  !  not  Granger. 
He  has  not  been  in  the  lodge  of  the  chief !  " 

"  The  beads,  Matiwan  ! — the  beads  !  See  !  "  with  the  words, 
he  caught  the  fawn  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he 
■tore  from  its  neck,  a  thick  necklace,  several  strands  of  large 
particolored  beads  which  had  been  wound  about  the  neck  of 
the  animal.  Dashing  them  to  the  ground,  he  trampled  them 
fiercely  under  his  feet. 

"  The  boy, — Sanutee — the  boy,  Occonestoga — " 

"  The  dog !  came  he  to  the  lodge  of  Sanutee  when  Sanutee 
said  no  !  Matiwan — woman !  Thy  ears  have  forgotten  the 
words  of  the  chief — of  Sanutee — thine  eyes  have  looked  upon 
a  dog/6 

"'Tis  the  child  of  Matiwan — Matiwan  has  no  child  but 
Occonestoga/'  And  she  threw  herself  at  length,  with  her 
face  to  the  ground,  at  the  foot  of  her  lord. 

"  Speak,  Matiwan — darkens  the  dog  still  in  the  lodge  of 
Sanutee  ?  " 

"  Sanutee,  no !  Occonestoga  has  gone  with  the  chiefs  of 
the  English,  to  talk  in  council  with  the  Yemassee." 

"Ha — thou  speakest! — look,  Matiwan — where  stood  the 
sun  when  the  chiefs  of  the  pale-faces  came  ?     Speak  !  " 

"  The  sun  stood  high  over  the  lodge  of  Matiwan,  and  saw 
not  beneath  the  tree-top." 

"  They  come  for  more  lands — they  would  have  all ;  but  they 
know  not  that  Sanutee  lives — they  say  he  sleeps — that  he  has 
no  tongue, — that  his  people  have  forgotten  his  voice !  Thev 
shall  see/'  As  he  spoke,  he  pointed  to  the  gaudy  beads  which 
lay  strewed  over  the  floor  of  the  cabin,  and,  with  a  bitter 
sarcasm  of  glance  and  speech,  thus  addressed  her: — 

"What  made  thee  a  chief  of  Yemassee,  Matiwan,  to  sell 
the  lands  of  my  people  to  the  pale-faces  for  their  painted 


80  THE  YEMASSEB. 

glass  ?  They  would  buy  thee,  and  the  chief,  and  the  nation — 
all ;  and  with  what  ?  With  that  which  is  not  worth,  save  that 
it  is  like  thine  eye.  And  thou — didst  thou  pray  to  the 
Manneyto  to  send  thee  from  thy  people,  that  thou  mightst 
carry  water  for  the  pale-faces  from  the  spring?  Go — thou 
hast  done  wrong,  Matiwan." 

"  They  put  painted  glass  into  the  hands  of  Matiwan,  but 
they  asked  not  for  lands;  they  gave  it  to  Matiwan,  for  she 
was  the  wife  of  Sanutee,  the  chief." 

"  They  lied  with  a  forked  tongue.  It  was  to  buy  the  lands 
of  our  people ;  it  was  to  send  us  into  the  black  swamps,  where 
the  sun  sleeps  for  ever.  But  I  will  go — where  is  the  dog — 
the  slave  of  the  pale-faces  ?  Where  went  Occonestoga  with  the 
English?" 

"  To  Pocota-ligo— they  would  see  the  chiefs  of  Yemassee." 

"  To  buy  them  with  the  painted  glass,  and  red  cloth,  and 
burning  water.  Manneyto  be  with  my  people,  for  the  chiefs 
are  slaves  to  the  English;  and  they  will  give  the  big  forests 
of  my  fathers  to  be  cut  down  by  the  accursed  axes  of  the  pale- 
face. But  they  blind  me  not — they  buy  not  Sanutee !  The 
knife  must  have  blood — the  Yemassee  must  have  his  home 
with  the  old  grave  of  his  father.    I  will  go  to  Pocota-ligo." 

"  Sanutee,  chief — 'tis  Matiwan,  the  mother  of  Occonestoga, 
that  speaks;  thou  wilt  see  the  young  chief — thou  wilt  look 
upon  the  boy  at  Pocota-ligo.  Oh !  well-beloved  of  the  Yemas- 
see— look  not  to  strike."  She  sank  at  his  feet  as  she  uttered 
the  entreaty,  and  her  arms  clung  about  his  knees. 

"  T  would  not  see  Occonestoga,  Matiwan — for  he  is  thy  son. 
Mannevto  befriend  thee,  but  thou  hast  been  the  mother  to  a 
dog."  ' 

"  Thou  wilt  not  see  to  strike — " 

"  I  would  not  see  him !  but  let  him  not  stand  in  the  path  of 
Sanutee.  Look,  Matiwan — the  knife  is  in  my  hand,  and  there 
is  death  for  the  dog,  and  a  curse  for  the  traitor,  from  the 
black  swamps  of  Opitchi-Manneyto." 

He  said  no  more,  and  she,  too,  was  speechless.  She  could 
only  raise  her  hands  and  eyes,  in  imploring  expression  to  his 
glance,  as,  seizing  upon  his  tomahawk,  which  he  had  thrown 
beside  him  upon  the  skin,  he  rushed  forth  from  the  lodge, 
and  took  the  path  to  Pocota-ligo. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  81 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  house  of  council,  in  the  town  of  Pocota-ligo  was  filled 
that  night  with  an  imposing  conclave.  The  gauds  and  the 
grandeur — the  gilded  mace,  the  guardian  sword,  the  solemn 
stole,  the  rich  pomps  of  civilization  were  wanting,  it  is  true ; 
but  how  would  these  have  shown  in  that  dark  and  primitive 
assembly !  A  single  hall — huge  and  cumbrous — built  of  the 
unhewn  trees  of  the  forest,  composed  the  entire  building.  A 
single  door  furnished  the  means  of  access  and  departure.  The 
floor  was  the  native  turf,  here  and  there  concealed  by  the 
huge  bearskin  of  some  native  chief,  and  they  sat  around,  each 
in  his  place,  silent,  solemn;  the  sagacious  mind  at  work;  the 
big  soul  filled  with  deliberations  involving  great  events,  and 
vital  interests  of  the  future.  No  assembly  of  the  white  man 
compares,  in  seeming  solemnity  at  least,  with  that  of  the  red. 
Motionless  like  themselves,  stood  the  torch-bearers,  twelve  in 
number,  behind  them — standing  and  observant,  and  only 
varying  their  position  when  it  became  necessary  to  renew  with 
fresh  materials  the  bright  fires  of  the  ignited  pine  which  they 
bore.  These  were  all  the  pomps  of  the  savage  council;  it  is 
but  the  narrow  sense,  alone,  which  would  object  to  their 
deficiency.  The  scene  is  only  for  the  stern  painter  of  the 
dusky  and  sublime — it  would  suffer  in  other  hands. 

Huspah  was  at  this  time  the  superior  chief — the  reigning 
king,  if  we  may  apply  that  title  legitimately  to  the  highest 
dignitary  of  a  people  with  a  form  of  government  like  that  of 
the  Yemassees.  He  bore  the  title  of  Mico,  which  may  be 
rendered  king  or  prince,  though  it  was  in  name  only  that  he 
might  be  considered  in  that  character.  He  was  not  one  of 
those  men  of  great  will,  who  make  royalty  power,  no  less  than 
a  name.  In  this  sense  there  was  no  king  in  the  nation,  unless 
it  were  Sanutee.  Huspah  was  a  shadowy  head.  The  Yemas- 
sees were  ruled  by  the  joint  authority  of  several  chiefs — each 
controlling  a  special  section  with  arbitary  authority,  yet, 
when   national   measures   were   to   be   determined   upon,   it 


82  THE  YEMASSEE. 

required  a  majority  for  action.  These  chiefs  were  elective, 
and  from  these  the  superior,  or  presiding  chief,  was  duly 
chosen;  all  of  these,  without  exception,  were  accountable  to 
the  nation;  though  such  accountability  was  rather  the  result 
of  popular  impulse  than  of  any  other  more  legitimate  or  cus- 
tomary regulation.  It  occurred  sometimes,  however,  that  a 
favourite  ruler,  presuming  upon  his  strength  with  the  people, 
ventured  beyond  the  prescribed  boundary,  and  transcended 
the  conceded  privileges  of  his  station;  but  such  occurrences 
were  not  frequent,  and,  when  the  case  did  happen,  the  offender 
was  most  commonly  made  to  suffer  the  unmeasured  penalties 
always  consequent  upon  any  outbreak  of  popular  indignation. 
As  in  the  practice  of  more  civilized  communities,  securing  the 
mercenaries,  a  chief  has  been  known  to  enter  into  treaties, 
unsanctioned  by  his  brother  chiefs;  and,  forming  a  party 
resolute  to  sustain  him,  has  brought  about  a  civil  war  in 
the  nation,  and,  perhaps,  the  secession,  from  the  great  body, 
of  many  of  its  tribes.  Of  this  sort  was  the  case  of  the  cele- 
brated Creek  chief,  Mackintosh — whose  summary  execution  in 
Georgia,  but  a  few  years  ago,  by  the  indignant  portion  of  his 
nation,  disapproving  of  the  treaty  which  he  had  made  with 
the  whites  for  the  sale  of  lands,  resulted  in  the  emigration  of 
a  large  minority  of  that  people  to  the  west. 

Among  the  Yemassees,  Huspah,  the  oldest  chief,  was  tacitly 
placed  at  the  head  of  his  caste,  and  these  formed  the  nobility 
of  the  nation.  This  elevation  was  nominal,  simply  compli- 
mentary in  its  character,  and  without  any  advantages  not 
shared  in  common  with  the  other  chiefs.  The  honour  was 
solety  given  to  past  achievements ;  for  at  this  time,  Huspah, 
advanced  in  years  and  greatly  enfeebled,  was  almost  in  his 
second  infancy.  The  true  power  of  the  nation  rested  in 
Sanutee — his  position  was  of  all  others  the  most  enviable,  as 
upon  him  the  eyes  of  the  populace  generally  turned  in  all 
matters  of  trying  and  important  character.  However 
reluctant,  his  brother  chiefs  were  usually  compelled  to  yield 
to  the  popular  will  as  it  was  supposed  to  be  expressed  through 
the  lips  of  one  styled  by  general  consent,  the  "  well-beloved  " 
of  the  nation.  A  superiority  so  enviable  with  the  people  hafl 
the  natural  effect  of  making  Sanutee  an  object  of  dislike 
among  his  equals.     He  was  not  ignorant  of  their  envy  and 


THE  YEMASSEE.  83 

hostility.  This  had  been  shown  in  various  ways ;  particularly 
in  the  fact  that  in  council,  it  was  only  necessary  that  he  should 
introduce  a  measure  to  find  him  in  a  minority.  An  appeal  to 
the  people  would,  it  is  true,  make  all  right ;  but  to  the  patriotic 
mind  of  Sanutee,  particularly  now,  and  with  such  important 
objects  in  view,  the  relation  with  his  brother  chiefs  was  a 
subject  of  great  anxiety,  as  he  plainly  foresaw  the  evil  con- 
sequences to  the  people  of  this  hostility  on  the  part  of  the 
chiefs  to  himself.  The  suggestions  which  he  made  in  council 
were  usually  met  with  decided  opposition  by  a  regularly  com- 
bined party,  and  it  was  only  necessary  to  identify  with  his 
name  the  contemplated  measure,  to  rally  against  it  sufficient 
opposition  for  its  defeat  in  council.  The  nation,  it  is  true, 
did  him  justice  in  the  end ;  but  to  his  mind  there  was  nothing 
grateful  in  this  sort  of  conflict. 

Under  this  state  of  things  at  home,  it  may  be  readily  under- 
stood why  the  hostility  of  Sanutee  to  the  approaching  English, 
should  meet  little  sympathy  with  the  majority  of  those  around 
him.  Accordingly,  we  find,  that  as  the  favourite  grew  more 
and  niore  jealous  of  and  hostile  to  the  intruders,  they  became, 
for  this  very  reason,  more  and  more  favoured  by  the  party 
among  the  chiefs,  which  was  envious  of  his  position.  No  one 
knew  better  than  Sanutee  the  true  nature  of  the  difficulty. 
He  was  a  far  superior  politician  to  those  around  him,  and  had 
long  since  foreseen  the  warfare  he  would  be  compelled  to 
wage  with  his  associates  when  aiming  at  the  point,  to  which, 
at  this  moment,  every  feeling  of  his  soul,  and  every  energy  of 
his  mind,  was  devoted.  It  was  this  knowledge  that  chiefly 
determined  him  upon  the  conspiracy — the  plan  of  which, 
perfectly  unknown  to  the  people,  was  only  entrusted  to  the 
bosom  of  a  few  chiefs,  having  like  feelings  with  himself. 
These  difficulties  of  his  situation  grew  more  obvious  to  his 
mind,  as,  full  of  evil  auguries  from  the  visit  of  the  English 
commissioners,  he  took  the  lonely  path  from  his  own  lodge  to 
the  council-house  of  Pocota-ligo. 

He  arrived  just  in  season.  As  he  feared,  the  rival  chiefs 
had  taken  advantage  of  his  absence  to  give  audience  to  the 
commissioners  of  treaty  from  the  Carolinians,  charged  with 
the  power  to  purchase  from  the  Yemassees  a  large  additional 
tract  of  land,  which,  if  sold  to  the  whites,  would  bring  their 


84  THE  YEMASSEE. 

settlements  directly  upon  the  borders  of  Pocota-ligo  itself. 
The  whites  had  proceeded,  as  was  usual  in  such  cases,  to 
administer  bribes  of  one  sort  or  another,  in  the  shape  of 
presents,  to  all  such  persons,  chiefs,  or  people,  as  were  most 
influential  and  seemed  most  able  to  serve  them.  In  this 
manner  had  all  in  that  assembly  been  appealed  to.  Huspah, 
an  old  and  drowsy  Indian,  tottering  with  palsy  from  side  to 
side  of  the  skin  upon  which  he  sat,  was  half  smothered  in  the 
wide  folds  of  a  huge  scarlet  cloak  which  the  commissioners 
had  flung  over  his  shoulders.  Dresses  of  various  shapes, 
colours,  and  decorations,  such  as  might  be  held  most  imposing 
to  the  Indian  eye,  had  been  given  to  each  in  the  assembly,  and 
put  on  as  soon  as  received.  In  addition  to  these,  other  gifts, 
such  as  hatchets,  knives,  beads,  &c,  had  been  made  to  minister 
to  the  craving  poverty  of  the  people,  so  that,  before  the  arrival 
of  Sanutee,  the  minds  of  the  greater  number  of  the  chiefs 
had  been  rendered  very  flexible,  and  prepared  to  give  gracious 
answer  to  all  claims  and  proffers  which  the  policy  of  the 
white  commissioners  should  prompt  them  to  make. 

Sanutee  entered  abruptly,  followed  by  Ishiagaska,  who,  like 
himself,  had  just  had  intelligence  of  the  council.  There  was 
a  visible  start  in  the  assembly  as  the  old  patriot  came  forward, 
full  into  the  centre  of  the  circle, — surveying,  almost  analyzing 
every  feature,  and  sternly  dwelling  in  his  glance  upon  the 
three  commissioners,  who  sat  a  little  apart  from  the  chiefs, 
upon  a  sort  of  mat  to  themselves.  Another  mat  held  the 
presents  which  remained  unappropriated  and  had  been 
reserved  for  such  chiefs,  Ishiagaska  and  Sanutee  among  them, 
as  had  not  been  present  at  the  first  distribution. 

The  survey  of  Sanutee,  and  the  silence  which  followed  his 
first  appearance  within  the  circle,  lasted  not  long;  abruptly, 
and  with  a  voice  of  deep  but  restrained  emotion,  addressing  no 
one  in  particular,  but  with  a  glance  almost  exclusively  given 
to  the  commissioners,  he  at  length  exclaimed  as  follows,  in 
his  own  strong  language : — 

"  Who  came  to  the  lodge  of  Sanutee  to  say  that  the  chiefs 
were  in  council  ?  Is  not  Sanutee  a  chief  ? — the  Yemassees  call 
him  so,  or  he  dreams.  Is  he  not  the  well-beloved  chief  of  the 
Yemassees,  or  have  his  brothers  taken  from  him  the  totem  of 


THE  YEMASSEE.  85 

his  tribe  ?    Look,  chiefs,  is  the  broad  arrow  of  Yemassee  gone 
from  the  shoulder  of  Sanutee  ?  " 

And  as  he  spoke,  throwing  the  loose  hunting  shirt  open  to 
the  shoulder,  he  displayed  to  the  gaze  of  all,  the  curved  arrow 
upon  his  bosom,  which  is  the  badge  of  the  Yemassees.  A 
general  silence  in  the  assembly  succeeded  this  speech — none 
of  them  caring  to  answer  for  an  omission  equally  chargeable 
upon  all.  The  eye  of  the  chief  lowered  scornfully  as  it  swept 
the  circle,  taking  in  each  face  with  its  glance ;  then,  throwing 
upon  the  earth  the  thick  bearskin  which  he  carried  upon  his 
arm,  he  took  his  seat  with  the  slow  and  sufficient  dignity  of  a 
Roman  senator,  speaking  as  he  descended: — 

"  It  is  well — Sanutee  is  here  in  council — he  is  a  chief  of 
the  Yemassees.    He  has  ears  for  the  words  of  the  English." 

Granger,  the  trader  and  interpreter,  who  stood  behind  the 
commissioners,  signified  to  them  the  purport  of  Sanutee's 
speech,  and  his  demand  to  hear  anew  the  propositions  which 
the  pnglish  came  to  make.  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger — then 
newly  created  a  landgrave,  one  of  the  titles  of  Carolinian 
nobility — the  head  of  the  deputation,  arose  accordingly,  and 
addressing  himself  to  the  new-comer,  rather  than  to  the  assem- 
bly, proceeded  to  renew  those  pledges  and  protestations  which 
he  had  already  uttered  to  the  rest.  His  speech  was  immedi- 
ately interpreted  by  Granger,  who,  residing  in  Pocota-ligo,  was 
familiar  with  their  language. 

"  Chiefs  of  the  Yemassee,7'  said  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger — 
"  we  come  from  your  English  brothers,  and  we  bring  peace 
with  this  belt  of  wampum.  They  have  told  us  to  say  to  you 
that  one  house  covers  the  English  and  the  Yemassee.  There 
is  no  strife  between  us — we  are  all  the  children  of  one  father, 
and  to  prove  their  faith  they  have  sent  us  with  words  of  good- 
will and  friendship,  and  to  you,  Sanutee,  as  the  well-beloved 
chief  of  the  Yemassee,  they  send  this  coat,  which  they  have 
worn  close  to  their  hearts,  and  which  they  would  have  you 
wear  in  like  manner,  in  proof  of  the  love  that  is  between  us." 

Thus  saying,  the  chief  of  the  deputation  presented,  through 
the  medium  of  Granger,  a  rich  but  gaudy  cloak,  such  as  had 
already  been  given  to  Huspah ; — but  putting  the  interpreter 
aside  and  rejecting  the  gift,  Sanutee  sternly  replied — ■ 


86  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  Our  English  brother  is  good,  but  Sanutee  asks  not  for  the 
cloak.     Does  Sanutee  complain  of  the  cold  ?  " 

Granger  rendered  this,  and  Bellinger  addressed  him  in 
reply-— 

"  The  chief  Sanutee  will  not  reject  the  gift  of  his  English 
brother." 

"  Does  the  white  chief  come  to  the  great  council  of  the 
Yemassees  as  a  fur  trader?  Would  he  have  skins  for  his 
coat  ?  "  was  the  reply. 

"  No,  Sanutee — the  English  chief  is  a  great  chief,  and  does 
not  barter  for  skins." 

"  A  great  chief  ? — he  came  to  the  Yemassee  a  little  child, 
and  we  took  him  into  our  lodges.  We  gave  him  meat  and 
water." 

"  We  know  this,  Sanutee."  But  the  Yemassee  went  on 
without  heeding  the  interruption. 

"  We  helped  him  with  a  staff  as  he  tottered  through  the 
thick  wood." 

"True,  Sanutee." 

"  We  showed  him  how  to  trap  the  beaver,*  and  to  hunt  the 
deer — we  made  him  a  lodge  for  his  woman;  and  we  sent  our 
young  men  on  the  war-path  against  his  enemy." 

"  We  have  not  forgotten — we  have  denied  none  of  the  ser- 
vices, Sanutee,  which  yourself  and  people  have  done  for  us," 
said  the  deputy. 

"  And  now  he  sends  us  a  coat !  "  and  as  the  chief  uttered 
this  unlooked-for  anti-climax,  his  eye  glared  scornfully  around 
upon  the  subservient  portion  of  the  assembly.  Somewhat 
mortified  with  the  tenour  of  the  sentence  which  the  inter- 
preter in  the  meantime  had  repeated  to  him,  Sir  Edmund 
Bellinger  would  have  answered  the  refractory  chief — 

"  No,  but,  Sanutee — " 

Without  heeding  or  seeming  to  hear  him.,  the  old  warrior 
went  on — 

"  He  sends  good  words  to  the  Yemassee,  he  gives  him 
painted  glass,  and  makes  him  blind  with  a  water  which  is 
poison — his  shot  rings  in  our  forests — we  hide  from  his  long 

*  The  beaver,  originally  taken  in  Carolina,  is  now  extinct 
[Simms's  Note}. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  87 

knife  in  the  cold  swamp,  while  the  copper  snake  creeps  over 
us  as  we  sleep." 

As  soon  as  the  deputy  comprehended  this  speech,  he 
replied — 

"  You  do  us  wrong,  Sanutee, — you  have  nothing  to  fear 
from  the  English." 

Without  waiting  for  the  aid  of  the  interpreter,  the  chief, 
who  had  acquired  a  considerable  knowledge  of  the  simpler 
portions  of  the  language,  and  to  whom  this  sentence  was 
clear  enough,  immediately  and  indignantly  exclaimed  in  his 
own — addressing  the  chiefs,  rather  than  replying  to  the 
Englishman — 

"  Eear, — Sanutee  has  no  fear  of  the  English — he  fears  only 
the  Manneyto.  He  only  fears  that  his  people  may  go  blind 
with  the  English  poison  drink, — that  the  great  chiefs  of  the 
Yemassee  may  sell  him  for  a  slave  to  the  English,  to  plant  his 
mai^e  and  to  be  beaten  with  a  stick.  But,  let  the  ears  of  the 
chiefs  hear  the  voice  of  Sanutee — the  Yemassee  shall  not 
be  the  slave  of  the  pale-face." 

"  There  is  no  reason  for  this  fear,  Sanutee — the  English 
have  always  been  the  friends  of  your  people,"  said  the  chief 
of  the  deputation. 

"Would  the  English  have  more  land  from  the  Yemassee? 
Let  him  speak;  Granger,  put  the  words  of  Sanutee  in  his 
ear.    Why  does  he  not  speak  ?  " 

Granger  did  as  directed,  and  Sir  Edmund  replied : — 

"  The  English  do  want  to  buy  some  of  the  land  of  your 
people — " 

"  Did  not  Sanutee  say  ?  And  the  coat  is  for  the  land," 
quickly  exclaimed  the  old  chief,  speaking  this  time  in  the 
English  language. 

"  No,  Sanutee,"  was  the  reply — "  the  coat  is  a  free  gift 
from  the  English.  They  ask  for  nothing  in  return.  But  we 
would  buy  your  land  with  other  things — we  would  buy  on 
the  same  terms  that  we  bought  from  the  Cassique  of 
Combahee." 

"The  Cassique  of  Combahee  is  a  dog — he  sells  the  grave 
of  his  father.  I  will  not  sell  the  land  of  my  people.  The 
Yemassee  loves  the  old  trees  and  the  shady  waters  where  he 
was  born,  and  where  the  bones  of  the  old  warriors  lie  buried. 


88  THE  YEMASSEE. 

I  speak  to  you,  chiefs — it  is  the  voice  of  Sanutee.  Hear  his 
tongue — it  has  no  fork;  look  on  his  face — it  does  not  show 
lies.  These  are  scars  of  battle,  when  I  stood  up  for  my  people. 
There  is  a  name  for  these  scars — they  do  not  lie.  Hear  me, 
then." 

"  Our  ears  watch/'  was  the  general  response,  as  he  made  his 
address  to  the  council. 

"  It  is  good. — Chiefs  of  the  Yemassee,  now  hear.  Why 
come  the  English  to  the  lodge  of  our  people?  Why  comes 
he  with  a  red  coat  to  the  Chief — why  brings  he  beads  and 
paints  for  the  eye  of  a  little  boy?  Why  brings  he  the  strong 
water  for  the  young  man  ?  Why  makes  he  long  speeches,  full 
of  smooth  words — why  does  he  call  us  brother  ?  He  wants  our 
lands.  But  we  have  no  lands  to  sell.  The  lands  came  from 
our  fathers — they  must  go  to  our  children.  They  do  not 
belong  to  us  to  sell — they  belong  to  our  children  to  keep. 
We  have  sold  too  much  land,  and  the  old  turkey,  before  the  sun 
sinks  behind  the  trees,  can  fly  over  all  the  land  that  is  ours. 
Shall  the  turkey  have  more  land  in  a  day  than  the  Yemassee 
has  for  his  children?  Speak  for  the  Yemassee,  chiefs  of  the 
broad-arrow — speak  for  the  Yemassee — speak,  Ishiagaska — 
speak,  Choluculla — speak,  thou  friend  of  Manneyto,  whose 
words  are  true  as  the  sun,  and  whose  wisdom  comes  swifter 
than  the  lightning — speak,  prophet — speak,  Enoree-Mattee — 
speak  for  the  Yemassee." 

To  the  high-priest,  or  rather  the  great  prophet  of  the 
nation,  the  latter  portion  of  the  speech  of  Sanutee  had  been 
addressed.  He  was  a  cold,  dark,  stern  looking  man,  gaudily 
arrayed  in  a  flowing  garment  of  red,  a  present  from  the  whites 
at  an  early  period,  while  a  fillet  around  his  head,  of  cloth 
stuck  with  the  richest  feathers,  formed  a  distinguishing 
feature  of  dress  from  any  of  the  rest.  His  voice,  next  to  that 
of  Sanutee,  was  potential  among  the  Indians;  and  the  chief 
well  knew,  in  appealing  to  him,  Choluculla,  and  Ishiagaska, 
that  he  was  secure  of  these,  if  of  none  other  in  the  council. 

"  Enoree-Mattee  is  the  great  prophet  of  Manneyto — he  will 
not  sell  the  lands  of  Yemassee." 

"  'Tis  well — speak,  Ishiagaska — speak,  Choluculla,"— » 
exclaimed  Sanutee. 

They  replied  in  the  same  moment: — 


THE  YEMASSEE.  89 

"  The  English  shall  have  no  land  from  the  Yemassee.     It 
is  the  voice  of  Ishiagaska — it  is  the  voice  of  Choluculla." 

"  It  is  the  voice  of  Sanutee — it  is  the  voice  of  the  prophet 
— it  is  the  voice  of  the  Manneyto  himself !  "  cried  Sanutee, 
with  a  tone  of  thunder,  and  with  a  solemn  emphasis  of  manner 
that  seemed  to  set  at  rest  all  further  controversy  on  the  sub- 
ject. But  the  voices  which  had  thus  spoken  were  all  that 
spoke  on  this  side  of  the  question.  The  English  had  not  been 
'  inactive  heretofore,  and,  what  with  the  influence  gained  from 
their  numerous  presents  and  promises  to  the  other  chiefs,  and 
the  no  less  influential  dislike  and  jealousy  which  the  latter 
entertained  for  the  few  more  controlling  spirits  taking  the 
stand  just  narrated,  the  minds  of  the  greater  number  had 
been  well  prepared  to  make  any  treaty  which  might  be 
required  of  them;  trusting  to  their  own  influence  somewhat, 
but  more  to  the  attractions  of  the  gewgaws  given  in  return  for 
their  lands,  to  make  their  peace  with  the  great  body  of  the 
people  in  the  event  of  their  dissatisfaction.  Accordingly, 
Sanutee  had  scarcely  taken  his  seat,  when  one  of  the  most 
hostile  among  them,  a  brave  but  dishonest  chief,  now  arose, 
-and  addressing  himself  chiefly  to  Sanutee,  thus  furnished 
much  of  the  feeling  and  answer  for  the  rest : — 

"  Does  Sanutee  speak  for  the  Yemassee — and  where  are 
the  other  chiefs  of  the  broad-arrow?  "Where  are  Metatchee 
and  Huspah — where  is  Oonalatchie,  where  is  Sarrataha  ? — are 
they  not  here  ?  It  is  gone  from  me  when  they  sung  the  death- 
sons:,  and  went  afar  to  the  blessed  valley  of  Mannevto.  They 
are  not  gone — they  live — they  have  voices  and  can  speak  for 
the  Yemassee.  Sanutee  may  say,  Ishiagaska  may  say,  the 
prophet  may  say — but  they  say  not  for  Manneywanto.  There 
are  brave  chiefs  of  the  Yemassee,  yet  we  hear  only  Sanutee. 
Sanutee!  cha  !  cha  !  I  am  here — I — Manneywanto.  I  speak 
for  the  trade  with  our  English  brother.  The  Yemassee  will 
sell  the  land  to  their  brothers/'  He  was  followed  by  another 
and  another,  all  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Metatchee  will  trade  with  the  English.  The  English  is 
the  brother  to  the  Yemassee." 

"  Oonalatchie  will  sell  the  land  to  our  English  brothers." 

And  so  on  in  succession,  all  but  the  four  first  speakers,  the 
assembled  chiefs  proceeded  to  sanction  the  proposed  treaty, 


90  THE  YEMASSEE. 

the  terms  of  which  had  been  submitted  to  them  before.  To  the 
declaration  of  each,  equivalent  as  it  was  to  the  vote  given  in 
our  assemblies,  Sanutee  had  but  a  single  speech. 

"  It  is  well !    It  is  well !  " 

And  he  listened  to  the  votes  in  succession,  approving  of  the 
trade,  until,  rising  from  a  corner  of  the  apartment  in  which, 
lying  prostrate,  he  had  till  then  kept  out  of  the  sight  of  the 
assembly  and  entirely  concealed  from  the  eye  of  Sanutee,  a 
tall  young  warrior,  pushing  aside  the  torch-bearers,  staggered 
forth  into  the  ring.  He  had  evidently  been  much  intoxicated, 
though  now  recovering  from  it  effects ;  and,  but  for  the  swollen 
face  and  the  watery  eye,  the  uncertain  and  now  undignified 
carriage,  he  might  well  have  been  considered  a  fine  specimen  of 
savage  symmetry  and  manly  beauty.  When  his  voice,  declar- 
ing also  for  the  barter,  struck  upon  the  ear  of  the  old  chief, 
he  started  round  as  if  an  arrow  had  suddenly  gone  into  his 
heart — then  remained  still,  silently  contemplating  the  speaker, 
who,  in  a  stupid  and  incoherent  manner,  proceeded  to  eulogize 
the  English  as  the  true  friends  and  dear  brothers  of  the 
Yemassees.  Granger,  the  trader  and  interpreter,  beholding 
the  fingers  of  Sanutee  gripe  the  handle  of  his  tomahawk, 
whispered  in  the  ears  of  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger: — 

"  Now  would  I  not  be  Occonestoga  for  the  world.  Sanutee 
will  tomahawk  him  before  the  stupid  youth  can  get  out  of  the 


wav." 


Before  the  person  addressed  could  reply  to  the  interpreter, 
his  prediction  was,  in  part,  and,  but  for  the  ready  presence  of 
the  Englishman,  would  have  been  wholly  accomplished. 
Scarcely  had  the  young  chief  finished  his  maudlin  speech, 
than,  with  a  horrible  yell,  seemingly  of  laughter,  Sanutee 
leaped  forward,  and,  with  uplifted  arm  and  descending  blow, 
would  have  driven  the  hatchet  deep  into  the  scull  of  the  only 
half-conscious  youth,  when  Sir  Edmund  seized  the  arm  of  the 
fierce  old  man  in  time  to  defeat  the  effort. 
"  Wouldst  thou  slay  thy  own  son,  Sanutee  ?  " 
"  He  is  thy  slave — he  is  not  the  son  of  Sanutee.  Thou 
hast  made  him  a  dog  with  thy  poison  drink,  till  he  would 
sell  thee  his  own  mother  to  carry  water  for  thy  women.  Hold 
me  not,  Englishman — I  will  strike  the  slave — I  will  strike 
thee,  too,  that  art  his  master  ;"  and,  with  a  fury  and  strength 


THE  YEMASSEE.  91 

which,  to  check,  required  the  restraining  power  of  half  a 
dozen  warriors,  he  laboured  to  effect  his  object.  They  suc- 
ceeded, however,  in  keeping  him  back,  until  the  besotted  youth 
had  been  safely  hurried  from  the  apartment;  when,  silenced 
and  stilled  by  the  strong  reaction  of  his  excitement,  the  old 
chief  sank  down  again  upon  his  bearskin  seat  in  a  stupor, 
until  the  parchment  conveying  the  terms  of  the  treaty,  with 
pens  and  ink,  provided  by  Granger  for  their  signatures,  was 
handed  to.  Huspah,  for  his  own  and  the  marks  of  the  chiefs. 
Sanutee  looked  on  with  some  watchfulness,  but  moved  not, 
until  one  of  the  attendants  brought  in  the  skin  of  a  dog  filled 
with  earth  and  tightly  secured  with  thongs,  giving  it  the 
appearance  of  a  sack.  Taking  this  sack  in  his  hands,  Huspah, 
who  had  been  half  asleep  during  the  proceedings,  now  arose, 
and  repeating  the  words  of  general  concurrence  in  the  sale 
of  the  lands,  proceeded  to  the  completion  of  the  treaty  by 
conveying  the  sack  which  held  some  of  the  soil  to  the  hands  of 
the  commissioners.  But  Sanutee  again  rushed  forward;  and 
seizing  the  sack  from  the  proffering  hand  of  Huspah,  he 
Imrled  it  to  the  ground,  trampled  it  under  foot,  and  poured 
forth,  as  he  did  so,  an  appeal  to  the  patriotism  of  the  chiefs, 
in  a  strain  of  eloquence  in  his  own  wild  language  which  we 
should  utterly  despair  to  render  into  ours.  He  implored 
them,  holding  as  they  did  the  destinies  of  the  nation  in  their 
hands,  to  forbear  its  sacrifice.  He  compared  the  wide  forests 
of  their  fathers,  in  value,  with  the  paltry  gifts  for  which  they 
were  required  to  give  them  up.  He  dwelt  upon  the  limited 
province,  even  now,  which  had  been  left  them  for  the  chase; 
spoke  of  the  daily  incursions  and  injuries  of  the  whites ;  and, 
with  those  bold  forms  of  phrase  and  figure  known  among  all. 
primitive  people,  with  whom  metaphor  and  personification 
supply  the  deficiency  and  make  up  for  the  poverty  of  lan- 
guage, he  implored  them  not  to  yield  up  the  bones  of  their 
fathers,  nor  admit  the  stranger  to  contact  with  the  sacred 
town,  given  them  by  the  Manneyto,  and  solemnly  dedicated  to 
his  service.  But  he  spoke  in  vain;  he  addressed  ears  more 
impenetrable  than  those  of  the  adder.  They  had  been  bought 
and  sold,  and  they  had  no  scruple  to  sell  their  country.  He 
was  supported  by  the  few  who  had  spoken  with  him  against 
the  trade;   but   what   availed   patriotism   against   numbers? 


92  THE  YEMASSEE. 

They  were  unheeded,  and,  beholding  the  contract  effected 
which  gave  up  an  immense  body  of  their  best  lands  for  a 
strange  assortment  of  hatchets,  knives,  blankets,  brads,  beads 
and  other  commodites  of  like  character,  Sanutee,  followed  by 
his  three  friends,  rushed  forth  precipitately,  and  with  a 
desperate  purpose,  from  the  traitorous  assembly. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  93 


CHAPTER  XL 

Sanutee,  the  "Well  Beloved/'  was  not  disposed  to  yield  up 
the  territory  of  his  forefathers  without  further  struggle. 
The  Yemassees  were  something  of  a  republic,  and  the  appeal 
of  the  old  patriot  now  lay  with  the  people.  He  was  much 
better  acquainted  with  the  popular  feeling  than  those  who 
had  so  far  sacrificed  it;  and,  though  maddened  with  indigna- 
tion, he  was  yet  sufficiently  cool  to  determine  the  most  effectual 
course  for  the  attainment  of  his  object.  Not  suspecting  his 
design,  the  remaining  chiefs  continued  in  council,  in  delibera- 
tions of  one  sort  or  another;  probably  in  adjusting  the  mode 
of  distributing  their  spoils ;  while  the  English  commissioners, 
having  succeeded  in  their  object,  retired  for  the  night  to  the 
^dwelling  of  Granger,  the  Indian  trader — a  Scotch  adventurer, 
who  had  been  permitted  to  take  up  his  abode  in  the  village, 
and  from  his  quiet,  unobtrusive,  and  conciliatory  habits,  had 
contrived  to  secure  much  of  the  respect  and  good  will  of  the 
Yemassees.  Sanutee,  meanwhile,  discussed  his  proposed  under- 
taking with  his  three  companions,  Enoree-Mattee,  the  prophet, 
Ishiagaska,  and  Choluculla,  all  of  whom  were  privy  to  the 
meditated  insurrection.  He  next  sought  out  all  the  most 
influential  and  fearless  of  the  Yemassees.  Nor  did  he  confine 
himself  to  these.  The  rash,  the  thoughtless,  the  ignorant- 
all  were  aroused  by  his  eloquence.  To  each  of  these  he  detailed 
the  recent  proceedings  of  council,  and,  in  his  own  vehement 
manner,  explained  the  evil  consequences  to  the  people  of  such 
a  treaty ;  taking  care  to  shape  his  information  to  the  mind  or 
mood  of  each  individual  to  whom  he  spoke.  To  one  he  painted 
the  growing  insolence  of  the  whites,  increasing  with  their 
increasing  strength,  almost  too  great,  already,  for  any  con- 
trol or  management.  To  another,  he  described  the  ancient 
glories  of  his  nation,  rapidly  departing  in  the  subservience 
with  which  their  chiefs  acknowledged  the  influence,  and 
truckled  to  the  desires  of  the  English.  To  a  third,  he 
deplored  the  loss  of  the  noble  forests  of  his  forefathers,  hewn 


94  THE  YEMASSEE. 

down  by  the  axe,  to  make  way  for  the  bald  fields  of  the 
settler;  despoiled  of  game,  and  leaving  the  means  of  life 
utterly  problematical  to  the  hunter.  In  this  way,  with  a 
speech  accommodated  to  every  feeling  and  understanding,  he 
went  over  the  town.  To  all,  he  dwelt  with  Indian  emphasis 
upon  the  sacrilegious  appropriation  of  the  old  burial-places 
of  the  Yemassee — one  of  which,  a  huge  tumulus  upon  the 
edge  of  the  river,  lay  almost  in  their  sight,  and  traces  of 
which  survive  to  this  day,  in  melancholy  attestation  of  their 
past  history.  The  effect  of  these  representations — of  these 
appeals — coming  from  one  so  well  beloved,  and  so  highly 
esteemed  for  wisdom  and  love  of  country,  as  Sanutee/was 
that  of  a  moral  earthquake;  and  his  soul  triumphed  with 
hope  as  he  beheld  them  rushing  onwards  in  a  momently 
gathering  crowd,  and  shouting  furiously,  as  they  bared  the 
knife  and  shook  the  tomahawk  in  air — 

"  Sangarrah,  Sangarrah-me,  Yemassee — Sangarrah,  San- 
garrah-me — Yemassee  " — the  bloody  war-cry  of  the  nation. 
To  overthrow  the  power  of  the  chiefs  there  was  but  one  mode; 
and  the  aroused  and  violent  passions  of  Sanutee  and  the 
chiefs  who  concurred  with  them,  did  not  suffer  them  to  scruple 
at  the  employment  of  any  process,  however  extreme,  for  the 
defeat  of  the  proceedings  of  the  council.  The  excited  chiefs, 
acting  in  concert,  and  using  all  their  powers  of  eloquence, 
succeeded  in  driving  the  infuriated  multitude  whom  they  had 
roused  in  the  direction  of  the  council  house,  where  the  chiefs 
were  still  in  session. 

"  It  is  Huspah,  that  has  sold  the  Yemassee  to  be  a  woman/' 
was  the  cry  of  one — "  Sangarrah-me — he  shall  die/' 

"  He  hath  cut  off  the  legs  of  our  children,  so  that  they  walk 
no  longer — he  hath  given  away  our  lands  to  the  pale-faces — 
Sangarrah-me — he  shall  die  !  " 

"  They  shall  all  die — have  they  not  planted  corn  in  the 
bosom  of  my  mother  ?  " — cried  another,  referring,  figuratively, 
to  the  supposed  use  which  the  English  would  make  of  the 
lands  they  had  bought;  and,  furiously  aroused,  they  all 
struck  their  hatchets  against  the  house  of  council,  command- 
ing the  chiefs  within  to  come  forth,  and  deliver  themselves 
up  to  their  vengeance.  But,  warned  of  their  danger,  the 
beleaguered  rulers  had  carefully  secured  the  entrance;  and, 


THE  YEMASSEE.  95 

trusting  that  the  popular  ebullition  would  soon  be  quieted, 
they  fondly  hoped  to  maintain  their  position  until  such 
period.  But  the  obstacle  thus  offered  to  the  progress  of  the 
mob — for  mobs  are  not  confined  to  the  civilized  cities — only 
served  the  more  greatly  to  inflame  it;  and  a  hundred  hands 
were  busy  in  procuring  piles  of  fuel,  with  which  to  fire  the 
building.  The  torches  were  soon  brought,  the  blaze  kindled 
at  different  points,  and  but  little  was  now  wanting  to  the  con- 
flagration which  must  have  consumed  all  within  or  driven 
them  forth  upon  the  weapons  of  the  besiegers;  when,  all  of 
a  sudden,  Sanutee  made  his  appearance,  and  with  a  single 
word  arrested  the  movement. 

"  Manneyto,  M anneyto — "  exclaimed  the  old  chief,  with  the 
utmost  powers  of  his  voice;  and  the  solemn  adjuration  reached 
to  the  remotest  incendiary  and  arrested  the  application  of 
the  torch.  Every  eye  was  turned  upon  him,  curious  to  ascer- 
tain the  occasion  of  an  exclamation  so  much  at  variance  with 
the  purpose  of  their  gathering,  and  so  utterly  unlooked-for 
from  lips  which  had  principally  instigated  it.  But  the  glance 
of  Sanutee  indicated  a  mind  unconscious  of  the  effect  which 
it  had  produced.  His  eye  was  fixed  upon  another  object, 
which  seemed  to  exercise  a  fascinating  influence  upon  him. 
His  hands  were  outstretched,  his  lips  parted,  as  it  were,  in 
amazement  and  awe,  and  his  whole  attitude  was  that  of 
devotion.  The  eyes  of  the  assembly  followed  the  direction  of 
his,  and  every  bosom  thrilled  with  the  wildest  throes  of 
natural  superstition,  as  they  beheld  Enoree-Mattee,  the 
prophet,  writhing  upon  the  ground  at  a  little  distance,  in  the 
most  horrible  convulsions.  The  glare  of  the  torches  around 
him  showed  the  terrific  distortion  of  every  feature.  His  eyes 
were  protruded,  as  if  bursting  from  their  sockets — his  tongue 
hung  from  his  widely  distended  jaws,  covered  with  foam — 
while  his  hands  and  legs  seemed  doubled  up,  like  a  knotted 
hand  of  snakes,  huddling  in  uncouth  sports  in  midsummer. 

"  Opitchi-Manneyto — Opitchi-Manneyto — here  are  arrows 
— we  burn  arrows  to  thee ;  we  burn  red  feathers  to  thee, 
Opitchi-Manneyto/'— was  the  universal  cry  of  deprecatory 
prayer  and  promise,  which  the  assembled  mass  sent  up  to 
their  evil  deity,  whose  presence  and  power  they  supposed 
themselves   to   behold,   in   the   agonized   writhings   of   their 


96  THE  YEMASSEE. 

prophet.  A  yell  of  savage  terror  then  burst  from  the  lips  of 
the  inspired  priest,  and,  rising  from  the  ground,  as  one 
relieved,  but  pregnant  with  a  sacred  fury,  he  waved  his  hand 
towards  the  council-house,  and  rushed  headlong  into  the 
crowd,  with  a  sort  of  anthem,  which,  as  it  was  immediately 
chorused  by  the  mass,  may  have  been  usual  to  such  occasions : 

"  The  arrows — 

The   feathers — 

The  dried  scalps,  and  the  teeth, 

The  teeth  from  slaughtered  enemies — 

Where  are  they — where  are  they? 
We    burn    them    for    thee,— black    spirit— 
We  burn  them  for  thee,  Opitchi-Manneyto— 

Leave  us,  leave  us,  black  spirit." 

The  crowd  sung  forth  this  imploring  deprecation  of  the 
demon's  wrath;  and  then,  as  if  something  more  relieved, 
Enoree-Mattee  uttered  of  himself : 

"  I  hear  thee,  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
Thy   words    are    in    my   ears, 
They  are  words  for  the  Yemassee; 
And  the  prophet  shall  speak  them  aloud! — 
Leave  us,  leave  us,  black  spirit." 

"Leave  us,  leave  us,  black  spirit.  Go  to  thy  red  home, 
Opitchi-Manneyto— let  us  hear  the  words  of  the  prophet— 
we  give  ear  to  Enoree-Mattee." 

Thus  called  upon,  the  prophet  advanced  to  the  side  of 
Sanutee,  who  had.  all  this  while,  preserved  an  attitude  of  the 
profoundest  devotion.  The  prophet  then  stood  erect,  lifted, 
as  it  were,  with  inspiration,  his  eyes  spiritually  bright,  his 
features  sublimed  by  a  sacred  fury ;  his  tongue  was  loosed,  and 
with  lifted  hands  and  accents,  he  poured  forth,  in  uncouth 
strains,  a  wild  rhythmic  strain,  the  highest  effort  of  lvric 
poetry  known  to  his  people : 

"Let  the  Yemassee  have  ears, 
For   Opitchi-Manneyto — 
'Tis  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Not  the  prophet,  now  that  speaks, 
Hear  Opitchi-Manneyto. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  97 

"  In  my  agony,  he  came, 

And  he  hurl'd  me  to  the  ground; 
Dragged  me  through  the  twisted  hush, 
Put  his  hand  upon  my  throat, 
Breathed  his  fire  into  my  mouth — 
That  Opitchi-Manneyto. 

"And  he  said  to  me  in  wrath, — 
Listen,  what  he  said  to  me; 
Hear  the  prophet,  Yemassees — 
For  he  spoke  to  me  in  wrath; 
He  was  angry  with  my  sons, 
For  he  saw  them  bent  to  slay, 
Bent  to  strike  the  council-chiefs, 
And  he  would  not  have  them  slain, 
'  That  Opitchi-Manneyto." 

As  the  prophet  finished  the  line  that  seemed  to  deny  them 
the  revenge  which  they  had  promised  themselves  upon  their 
chiefs,  the  assembled  multitude  murmured  audibly,  and 
Sanntee,  than  whom  no  better  politician  lived  in  the  nation, 
knowing  well  that  the  show  of  concession  is  the  best  mode  of 
execution  among  the  million,  came  forward,  and  seemed  to 
address  the  prophet,  while  his  speech  was  evidently  meant  for 
them. 

"  Wherefore,  Enoree-Mattee,  should  Opitchi-Manneyto  save 
the  false  chiefs  who  have  robbed  their  people?  Shall  we  not 
have  their  blood — shall  we  not  hang  their  scalps  in  the  tree — 
shall  we  not  bury  their  heads  in  the  mud?  Wherefore  this 
strange  word  from  Opitchi-Manneyto — wherefore  would  he 
save  the  traitors  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  well-beloved — it  is  the  well-beloved  of  Maimeyto 
— speak,  prophet,  to  Sanutee,"  was  the  general  cry;  and  the 
howl,  which,  at  that  moment,  had  been  universal,  was  suc- 
ceeded by  the  hush  and  awful  stillness  of  the  grave.  The 
prophet  was  not  slow  to  answer  for  the  demon,  in  a  wild  strain 
like  that  already  given  them : 

"  'Tis  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Not  the  prophet,  now  that  speaks, 
Give    him    ear    then,    Yemassee, 
Hear  Opitchi-Manneyto. 

"  Says  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
Wherefore  are  my  slaves  so  few? 


98  THE  YEMASSEE. 

Not  for  me  the  gallant  chief, 
Slaughtered  by  the  Yemassee — 
Blest,  the  slaughtered  chief  must  go, 
To  the  happy  home  that  lies 
In  the  bosom  of  the  hills, 
Where  the  game  is  never  less, 
Though  the  hunter  always  slays — 
Where  the  plum-groves  always  bloom, 
And  the  hunter  never  sleeps. 

"  Says   Opitchi-Manneyto — 

Wherefore  are  my  slaves  so  few? 
Shall  the   Yemassee   give  death — 
Says  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
To  the  traitor,  to  the  slave, 
Who  would  sell  the  Yemassee — 
Who  would  sell  his  father's  bones, 
And  behold  the  green  corn  grow 
From  his  wife's  and  mother's  breast! 

"Death  is  for  the  gallant  chief 
Says  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
Life  is  for  the  traitor  slave, 
But  a  life  that  none  may  know — 
With  a  shame  that  all  may  see. 

"  Thus  Opitchi-Manneyto, 

To  his  sons,  the  Yemassee — 

Take  the  traitor  chiefs,  says  he, 

Make  them  slaves,  to  wait  on  me. 

Bid  Malatchie  take  the  chiefs, 

He,  the  executioner — 

Take  the  chiefs  and  bind  them  down, 

Cut  the  totem  from  each  arm, 

So  that  none  may  know  the  slaves, 

Not  their  fathers,  not  their  mothers — 

Children,  wives,  that  none  may  know — 

Not  the   tribes  that   look   upon, 

Not  the  young  men  of  their  own, 

Not  the  people,  not  the  chiefs — 

Nor  the  good  Manneyto  know. 

"  Thus  Opitchi-Manneyto, 

Make  these  traitors  slaves  for  me; 

Then  the  blessed  valley  lost, 

And  the  friends  and  chiefs  they  knew. 

None  shall  know  them,  all  shall  flee, 

Make  them  slaves  to  wait  on  me — 

Hear  Opitchi-Manneyto, 

Thus,  his  prophet  speaks  for  him, 

To  the  mighty  Yemassee." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  99 

The  will  of  the  evil  deity  thus  conveyed  to  the  Indians  by 
the  prophet,  carried  with  it  a  refinement  in  the  art  of  punish- 
ment to  which  civilization  has  not  often  attained.  Accord- 
ing to  the  superstitions  of  the  Yemassees,  the  depriving  the 
criminal  of  life  did  not  confer  degradation  or  shame;  for  his 
burial  ceremonies  were  precisely  such  as  were  allotted  to  those 
dying  in  the  very  sanctity  and  most  grateful  odour  of  favour- 
able public  opinion.  But  this  was  not  the  case  when  the 
totem  or  badge  of  his  tribe  had  been  removed  from  that  por- 
tion of  his  person  where  it  had  been  the  custom  of  the  people 
to  have  it  wrought;  for,  without  this  totem,  no  other  nation 
qould  recognise  them,  their  own  resolutely  refused  to  do  it, 
and,  at  their  death,  the  great  Manneyto  would  reject  them 
from  the  plum-groves  and  the  happy  valley,  when  the  fierce 
Opitchi-Manneyto,  the  evil  demon,  whom  they  invoked  with 
as  much,  if  not  more  earnestness  than  the  good,  was  always 
secure  of  his  prey. 

Such,  then,  was  the  terrific  decree  delivered  by  the  prophet. 
A  solemn  awe  succeeded  for  a  moment  this  awful  annunciation 
among  the  crowd;  duly  exaggerated  by  the  long  and  painful 
howl  of  agony  with  which  the  doomed  traitors  within  the 
council-house,  who  had  been  listening,  were  made  conscious 
of  its  complete  purport.  Then  came  a  shout  of  triumphant 
revenge  from  those  without,  who  now,  with  minds  duly  directed 
to  the  new  design,  were  as  resolute  to  preserve  the  lives  of  the 
chiefs  as  they  had  before  been  anxious  to  destroy  them.  Encir- 
cling the  council-house  closely  in  order  to  prevent  their 
escape,  they  determined  patiently  to  adopt  such  measures  as 
should  best  secure  them  as  prisoners.  The  policy  of  Sanutee, 
for  it  will  scarcely  need  that  we  point  to  him  as  the  true 
deviser  of  the  present  scheme,  was  an  admirable  one  in  con- 
sidering the  Indian  character.  To  overthrow  the  chiefs 
properly,  and  at  the  same  time  to  discourage  communication 
with  the  English,  it  was  better  to  degrade  than  to  destroy 
them.  The  populace  may  sympathize  with  the  victim  whose 
blood  they  have  shed,  for  death  in  all  countries  goes  far  to 
cancel  the  memory  of  offence ;  but  they  seldom  restore  to  their 
estimation  the  individual  they  have  themselves  degraded. 
The  mob,  in  this  respect,  seems  to  be  duly  conscious  of  the 
hangman  filthiness  of  its  own  ringers. 


100  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  not  less  exciting  scene  was  now  going  on  within  the 
council-chamber.  There,  all  was  confusion  and  despair.  The 
shock  of  such  a  doom  as  that  which  the  chiefs  had  heard  pro- 
nounced by  the  people,  under  the  influence  of  the  prophet, 
came  upon  them  like  a  bolt  of  thunder.  For  a  moment  it 
paralyzed  with  its  terrors  the  hearts  of  those  who  had  no  fear 
of  death.  The  mere  loss  of  life  is  always  an  event  of  triumpli 
with  the  brave  among  the  Indians,  and,  for  the  due  ennobling 
of  which,  his  song  of  past  victories  and  achievements,  carefully 
chronicled  by  a  memory  which  has  scarcely  any  other  employ- 
ment, is  shouted  forth  in  the  most  acute  physical  agony,  with 
a  spirit  which  nothing  can  bend  or  conquer.  But  to  deprive 
him  of  this  memory — to  eradicate  all  the  marks  of  his  achieve- 
ments— to  take  from  him  the  only  credential  by  which  he 
operates  among  his  fellows,  and. claims  a  place  in  the  ranks 
of  the  illustrious  dead — was  a  refinement  upon  the  terrors  of 
1  punishment,  which,  unfrequently  practised,  was  held  as  a 
doom,  intended  to  paral}'ze,  as  in  the  present  instance,  every 
spark  of  moral  courage  which  the  victim  might  possess.  For 
a  moment  such  was  its  effect  in  the  assembly  of  the  chiefs. 
The  solitary  howl  of  despair  which  their  unanimous  voices 
sent  up,  as  the  first  intimation  of  the  decree  met  their  ears, 
was  succeeded  by  the  deepest  silence,  while  they  threw  them- 
selves upon  their  faces,  and  the  torch-bearers,  burying  their 
torches  in  the  clay  floor  of  the  building,  with  something  of 
that  hate  and  horror  which  seemed  to  distinguish  the  body 
of  the  Indians  without,  rushed  forth  from  the  apartment  and 
joined  with  the  assembled  people.  Their  departure  aroused 
the  despairing  inmates,  and  while  one  of  them  carefully 
again  closed  the  entrance  before  the  watchful  mass  without 
could  avail  themselves  of  the  opening,  the  rest  prepared  them- 
selves with  renewed  courage  to  deliberate  upon  their  situation. 
"  There  is  death  for  Manneywanto,"  exclaimed  that  fierce 
warrior  and  chief — "  he  will  not  lose  the  arrow  of  his  tribe. 


THE  YEMASSEE:  301 

I  will  go  forth  to  the  hatchet.  I  will  lift  my  arm,  and  strike 
so  that  they  shall  slay/' 

"  Let  them  put  the  knife  into  the  heart  of  Oonalatchie," 
cried  another — "  but  not  to  the  arrow  upon  his  shoulder.  He 
will  go  forth  with  Manneywanto." 

The  determination  of  the  whole  was  soon  made.  Huspah, 
the  superior  but  superannuated  chief,  tottered  in  advance, 
singing  mournfully  the  song  of  death  with  which  the  Indian 
always  prepares  for  its  approach.  The  song  became  general 
with  the  victims,  and  with  drawn  knives  and  ready  hatchets, 
they  threw  wide  the  entrance,  and  rushing  forth  with  a  fury 
duly  heightened  by  the  utter  hopelessness  of  escape,  they 
struck  desperately  on  all  sides  among  the  hundreds  by  whom 
they  were  beleaguered.  But  they  had  been  waited  and  pre- 
pared for,  and,  forbearing  to  strike  in  return,  and  freely  risk- 
ing their  own  lives,  the  Indians  were  content  to  bear  them 
down  by  the  force  of  numbers.  The  more  feeble  among  them 
fell  under  the  pressure.  Of  these  was  Huspah,  the  king,  whom 
the  crowd  immediately  dragged  from  the  press,  and,  in  spite 
of  the  exertions  of  Sanutee,  who  desired  the  observance  of 
some  formalities  which  marked  the  ceremony,  they  fiercely 
cut  away  the  flesh  from  that  portion  of  the  arm  which  bore  the 
symbol  of  his  people,  while  his  shrieks  of  despair  and  defiance, 
reaching  the  ears  of  his  comrades,  still  struggling  with  their 
assailants,  heightened  their  desperation  and  made  their  arrest 
the  more  difficult.  But  the  strife  was  in  a  little  time  over. 
The  crowd  triumphed,  and  the  chiefs,  still  living  and  unhurt, 
saving  only  a  few  bruises  which  were  unavoidable  in  the 
affray,  were  all  secured  saved  Manneywanto.  That  powerful 
and  ferocious  chief  manfully  battled  with  a  skill  and  strength 
that  knew  no  abatement  from  its  exercise,  and  seemed  only 
heightened  by  the  opposition.  A  friendly  hand,  at  length, 
whose  stroke  he  blessed,  encountered  him  in  the  crowd,  and 
severed  his  skull  with  a  hatchet.  He  was  the  only  individual 
of  the  traitors  by  whom  the  vengeance  of  the  Indians  was 
defrauded.  Not  another  of  the  clan  proved  fortunate  in  his 
desneration.  The  survivors  were  all  securelv  taken,  and,  care- 
fully  bound  with  thongs,  were  borne  away  to  the  great 
tumulus  upon  which  they  were  to  suffer  the  judgment  which 
they  so  much  dreaded.     There  was  no  escape.     They  found 


302  THE  YEMASSEE. 

no  mercy.  They  did  not  plead  for  mercy,  nor  for  life.  Death 
was  implored,  but  in  vain.  The  prophet — the  people,  were 
relentless.  The  knife  sheared  the  broad  arrow  from  breast  and 
arm,  and  in  a  single  hour  they  were  expatriated  men,  flying 
desperately  to  the  forests,  homeless,  nationless,  outcasts  from 
God  and  man,  yet  destined  to  live.  It  is  remarkable  that,  in 
all  this  time,  suicide  never  entered  the  thoughts  of  the  victims. 
It  forms  no  part  of  the  Indian's  philosophy  to  die  by  his  own 
hand,  and  the  Roman  might  have  won  a  lesson  from  the 
Yemassee,  in  this  respect,  which  would  have  ennobled  his 
Catos.* 

Meanwhile,  the  deputation  of  the  Carolinians  lay  at  the 
house  of  Granger,  full  of  apprehensions  for  their  common 
safety.  Nor  was  Granger  himself  less  so.  He  felt  assured 
of  the  danger,  and  only  relied  upon  the  interposition  of 
Sanutee,  which  he  knew  to  be  all-powerful,  and  which,  looking 
on  the  outbreak  of  the  people  as  the  result  of  their  own 
impulse,  he  saw  no  reason  to  imagine  would  be  denied  on  the 
present  occasion.  From  their  place  of  retreat,  which  lay  on 
the  skirts  of  the  town  and  nigh  the  river,  the  embassy  could 
hear  the  outcries  and  clamours  of  the  Indians  without  being 
acquainted  with  particulars ;  and  when  at  length  they  beheld 
the  names  ascending  from  the  house  of  council — which,  when 
they  had  seized  upon  the  chiefs,  the  rioters  had  fired — believ- 
ing the  chiefs  consumed  in  the  conflagration,  they  gave  them- 
selves up  for  lost.  They  did  not  doubt  that  the  fury  which 
had  sacrificed  so  many  and  such  influential  persons  would 
scarcely  be  satisfied  to  allow  of  their  escape;  and,  firmly 
impressed  with  the  conviction  that  their  trial  was  at  hand, 
Sir  Edmund  Bellinger  drew  his  sword,  and,  followed  by  the 
rest  of  the  deputation,  prepared  for  a  conflict  in  which  they 
had  but  one  hope,  that  of  selling  the  life  dearly,  which  seemed 
so  certainly  forfeited. 

In  this  mood  of  mind  they  waited  the  coming  of  the  storm; 
nor  were  they  long  kept  in  suspense.  Having  beheld  the  fear- 
ful doom  carried  into  effect,  and  seen  their  ancient  rulers 

♦Ordinarily,  such  is  the  case;  yet  there  are  exceptions  to  the 
rule.  The  Cherokees  have  been  frequently  known  to  destroy 
themselves,  after  losing  their  beauty  from  the  smallpox  [Simms't 
Note]. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  103 

scourged  out  of  the  town,  the  revolutionists  rushed  headlong, 
and  with  an  appetite  for  blood  duly  heightened  by  the  little 
they  had  seen,  to  the  dwelling  of  the  trader — vowing  as  they 
hurried  along,  to  their  infernal  deity.  Opitchi-Manneyto.  an 
increase  of  slaves  in  the  persons  of  the  Englishmen,  whom 
they  proposed  to  sacrifice  by  fire.  On  their  way,  mistaking 
one  of  their  own  people  who  had  dressed  himself  somewhat 
after  the  fashion  of  the  English,  in  a  dress  which  had  been 
discarded  by  some  white  man.  they  dashed  him  to  the  earth, 
trampled  and  nearly  tore  him  into  pieces  before  discovering 
the  mistake.  In  such  a  temper,  they  appeared  before  the 
dwelling  of  the  trader,  and  with  loud  shouts  demanded  their 
prey. 

Determined  upon  stout  resistance  to  the  last,  the  com- 
missioners had  barricaded  the  little  dwelling  as  well  as  they 
could;  and.  doubtless,  for  a  small  space  of  time,  would  have 
made  it  tenable :  but.  fortunately  for  them,  just  as  the  furious 
savages  were  about  to  apply  the  fatal  torch  to  the  building, 
the  appearance  of  Enoree-Mattee  and  Sanutee  spared  them  an 
issue  which  could  have  only  terminated  in  their  murder. 
Sanutee  had  his  game  to  play.  and.  though  perfectly  indif- 
ferent, perhaps,  as  to  the  fate  of  the  commissioners,  yet.  as 
his  hope  in  the  forthcoming  insurrection  lay  in  taking  the 
Carolinians  by  surprise,  it  was  his  policy  to  impress  them 
with  confidence  rather  than  distrust.  He  aimed  now  to  divest 
the  embassy  of  all  suspicion,  and  to  confine  the  show  of 
indignation  on  the  part  of  the  Yemassees,  entirely  to  the  chiefs 
who  had  so  abused  their  power. 

Addressing  the  mob,  he  controlled  it  in  his  own  manner,  and 
telling  them  that  they  wanted  nothing  from  the  English  but 
the  treaty  which  had  so  fraudulently  been  entered  into  by  their 
chiefs,  he  engaged  to  them  to  effect  its  restoration,  along  with 
the  skin  of  earth,  which  completing  the  bargain,  was  held 
equivalent  in  their  estimation,  to  a  completion  of  legal  right  as 
an  actual  possession.  After  some  demur.  Granger  admitted 
the  chief,  who  came  alone  to  the  presence  of  the  deputation, 
the  chairman  of  which  thus  sternly  addressed  him : — 

"  Are  the  English  dogs/"'  said  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger,  "  that 
thy  people  hunt  them  with  cries  and  fire  ?  Wherefore  is  this, 
Sanutee  ?  " 


■104  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  The  English  have  the  lands  of  my  people,  and  therefore 
my  people  hunt  them.  The  bad  chiefs  who  sold  the  land  as 
chiefs  of  the  Yemassee,  are  chiefs  no  longer." 

"  Thou  hast  slain  them  ?  "  inquired  Sir  Edmund. 

"  No,  but  they  are  dead — dead  to  Sanutee — dead  to  the 
Yemassee — dead  to  Manneyto.  They  are  dogs — the  English 
have  slaves  in  the  woods." 

"But  their  acts  are  good  with  us,  and  the  English  will 
protect  them,  Sanutee,  and  will  punish  their  enemies. 
Beware,  chief — I  tell  thee  there  is  danger  for  thy  people." 

"  It  is  good.  Does  the  white  chief  hear  my  people  ?  They 
cry  for  blood.  They  would  drink  it  from  thy  heart,  but 
Sanutee  is  the  friend  of  the  English.  They  shall  touch  thee 
not — they  shall  do  thee  no  harm  !  " 

"  Thou  hast  said  well,  Sanutee,  and  I  expected  no  less  from 
thee;  but  why  do  they  not  go?  Why  do  they  still  surround 
our  dwelling  ?  " 

:<  They  wait  for  the  wampum — they  would  tear  the  skin 
which  carries  the  land  of  the  Yemassee;"  and  the  chief,  as 
he  spoke,  pointed  to  the  treaty  and  the  sack  of  earth  whicrV 
lay  by  the  side  of  Bellinger.  He  proceeded  to  tell  them  that 
they  should  be  secure  when  these  were  re-delivered  to  the 
Indians.  But,  with  the  commissioners  it  was  a  point  of 
honour  not  to  restore  the  treaty  which  they  had  obtained 
from  the  rulers  de  facto  of  the  people — certainly,  not  to  a 
lawless  mob ;  and,  regarding  only  the  high  trust  of  which  he 
had  charge,  the  speech  of  the  chief  commissioner  was 
instantaneous : — 

"  Never,  Sanutee,  never — only  with  my  blood.  Go — you 
have  my  answer.  We  shall  fight  to  the  last,  and  our  blood 
be  upon  the  heads  of  your  people.  They  will  pay  dearly  for 
every  drop  of  it  they  spill." 

"  It  is  well,"  said  Sanutee,  "  It  is  well :  Sanutee  will  go 
back  to  his  people,  and  the  knife  of  the  Yemassee  will  dig 
for  his  land  in  the  heart  of  the  English."  He  left  the  house, 
accordingly;  and,  with  gloomy  resignation,  Bellinger,  with 
the  other  commissioners  and  Granger,  prepared  for  the  com- 
ing storm  with  all  their  philosophy.  In  a  few  moments  the 
anticipated  commotion  began.  The  populace,  but  a  little 
before   silent   and   patient,   now   chafed   and   roared   like   a 


THE  YEMASSEE.  105 

stormy  ocean,  and  the  fierce  cry  of  "  Sangarrah-me,"  the  cry 
for  blood,  went  up  from  a  thousand  voices.  The  torches  were 
brought  forward,  and  the  deputies,  firm  and  fearless  enough, 
saw  no  hope  even  of  a  chance  for  the  use  of  their  weapons. 
The  two  subordinates,  with  Granger,  looked  imploringly  to 
Bellinger,  but  the  stern  chief  paced  the  apartment  unbend- 
ingly, though  seemingly  well  aware  of  all  the  dangers  of  their 
situation.  At  that  moment  the  wife  of  Granger — a  tall,  fine 
looking  woman,  of  much  masculine  beauty,  appeared  from  an 
inner  apartment,  and  before  she  had  been  observed  by  either 
of  the  commisioners,  seizing  upon  the  little  skin  of  earth  and 
the  parchment  at  the  same  moment,  without  a  word,  she  threw 
open  the  door,  and  cried  out  to  Sanutee  to  receive  them.  This 
was  all  done  in  an  instant,  and  before  the  stern  commissioner 
could  see  or  interfere,  the  deposits/placed  in  the  grasp  of  the 
savages,  were  torn  into  a  thousand  pieces. 

"  Woman,  how  durst  thou  do  this !  " — was  the  first  sen- 
tence of  Bellinger,  to  the  person  who  had  thus  yielded  up  his 
trust.     But  she  fearlessly  confronted  him — 

"  My  life  is  precious  to  me,  Sir,  though  you  may  be  regard- 
less of  yours.  The  treaty  is  nothing  now  to  the  Yemassees, 
who  have  destroyed  their  chiefs  on  account  of  it.  To  have 
kept  it  would  have  done  no  good,  but  must  have  been  destruc- 
tive to  us  all.  Sanutee  will  keep  his  word,  and  our  lives  will 
be  saved/' 

It  was  evident  that  she  was  right,  and  Bellinger  was  wise 
enough  to  see  it.  He  said  nothing  farther,  glad,  perhaps,  that 
the  responsibility  of  the  action  had  been  thus  taken  from  his 
shoulders.  The  assurances  of  the  woman  were  soon  verified. 
In  a  short  time  Sanutee  re-appeared  among  the  commissioners. 
The  crowd  without,  meanwhile,  had  been  made  to  hear  his 
voice, — had  shared  in  the  destruction  of  the  offensive  treaty, 
and  their  rage  was  temporarily  pacified.  The  storm  gradually 
subsided. 

"  Sanutee  is  a  friend  of  the  English,"  was  the  soothing 
assurance  of  the  wily  chief.  "  The  wise  men  of  the  English 
will  soon  go  to  their  own  people.  The  Yemassee  will  do  them 
no  hurt." 

The  commissioners  waited  perforce  the  signal  of  Sanutee  to 
depart.     The  clamour  having  subsided,  they  prepared  to  go 


•106  THE  YEMASSEE. 

forth  under  the  protection  and  presence  of  the  old  chief,  which 
the  proud  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger  had  indignantly,  but  in  vain, 
refused.  Seeing  that  Granger  and  his  wife  remained,  Sanutee 
turned  suddenly  upon  him,  and  in  a  low  tone,  unheard  by  the 
commissioners,  asked  why  he  did  not  prepare  to  go  also.  He 
answered  by  avowing  his  willingness  still  to  remain  in  Pocota- 
ligo,  as  before,  for  the  purpose  of  trade. 

"  Go — Sanutee  is  good  friend  to  Granger,  and  to  his  woman. 
Go  all — there  is  fire  and  a  knife  in  the  hand  of  the  Yemassees, 
and  they  will  drink  a  deep  draught  from  the  heart  of  the  pale- 
faces. If  Granger  will  not  go  from  the  Yemassee,  look,  the 
hatchet  of  Sanutee  is  ready;"  and  he  raised  it  as  he  spoke — 
"  Sanutee  will  save  Granger  from  the  fire-death/-' 

This  is  the  last  service  which  the  Indian  warrior  may  do  his 
friend,  and  Granger  understood  the  extent  of  the  impending 
danger  from  this  proffer,  meant  as  a  kindness  on  the  part  of 
the  old  chief.  He  needed  no  second  exhortation  to  remove, 
and,  though  the  hope  of  gain  and  a  prosperous  trade  had 
encouraged  him  hitherto,  to  risk  every  thing  in  his  present 
residence,  the  love  of  life  proved  stronger;  for  he  well  knew 
that  Sanutee  seldom  spoke  without  good  reason.  Packing  up, 
therefore,  with  the  aid  of  his  wife,  the  little  remaining  stock 
in  trade  which  he  possessed,  and  which  a  couple  of  good-sized 
bundles  readily  comprised,  they  took  their  way  along  with  the 
commissioners,  and,  guided  by  Sanutee,  soon  reached  the 
river.  Choosing  for  them  a  double  canoe,  the  old  chief  saw 
them  safely  embarked.  Taking  the  paddles  into  their  own 
hands,  the  midnight  wayfarers  descended  the  stream  on  their 
way  towards  the  Block  House,  while,  surrounded  by  a  small 
group  of  his  people,  Sanutee  watched  their  slow  progress  from 
the  banks. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  107 


CHAPTEK  XIII. 

•  The  fugitives  reached  the  Block  House  in  safety,  and  found 
the  few  hours  of  repose  which  they  could  snatch  between  the 
time  of  their  midnight  escape  and  daylight,  highly  grateful 
from  the  fatigues  which  they  had  undergone.  The  upper 
apartments  were  appropriately  divided  between  the  commis- 
sioners and  Granger,  who,  with  his  wife,  instead  of  seeking 
sleep  on  their  arrival,  proceeded  with  all  the  mechanical  habits 
of  the  trader,  to  attend  first  to  the  proper  safety  and  arrange- 
ment of  his  stock  in  trade ;  which,  consisting  of  a  few  unsold 
goods,  of  a  description  adapted  to  the  wants  of  that  region, 
.  and  some  small  bundles  of  furs,  intrinsically  of  little  value, 
were  yet  to  the  selfish  tradesman  of  paramount  importance.  ^ 

It  was  early  sunrise  on  the  morning  following  the  wild 
events  narrated  in  our  last  chapter,  when  Gabriel  Harrison, 
of  whom  we  have  seen  little  for  some  time  past,  appeared  on 
the  edge  of  the  little  brow  of  [the]  hill,  known  as  the  Chief's 
Bluff,  which  immediately  overlooked  the  Pocota-ligo  river.  In 
the  distance,  some  ten  or  twelve  miles,  unseen  of  course,  lay 
the  Indian  village  or  town  of  the  same  name.  Immediately 
before  him,  say  one  or  two  miles  above,  in  the  broadest  part  of 
the  stream,  rested  motionless  as  the  hill  upon  which  he  stood, 
the  sharp  clipper-built  vessel,  which  has  already  called  for 
some  of  our  attention,  and  which,  at  this  moment,  seemed  to 
attract  no  small  portion  of  his.  Sheltered  by  the  branches 
of  a  single  tree,  which  arose  from  the  centre  of  the  bluff,  Har- 
rison continued  the  scrutiny,  with  here  and  there  a  soliloquiz- 
ing remark,  until  interrupted  by  the  presence  of  the  commis- 
sioners, who,  with  Granger,  now  came  towards  him  from  the 
Block  House. 

"Ha,  Sir  Edmund — gentlemen — how  fares  it,  and  when 
came  you  from  Pocota-ligo  ?  "  was  the  salutation  of  Harrison 
to  the  deputation. 

"At  midnight,  my  lord— at  midnight,  and  in  a  hurry ;  we 
had  the  whole  tribe  upon  us.     There  has  been  a  commotion, 


108  THE  YEMASSEE. 

and  by  this  time,  I  doubt  not,  the  Yemassees  have  cut  the 
throats  of  all  the  chiefs  friendly  to  our  proposed  treaty." 

"  Indeed,  but  this  is  worse  and  worse.  I  feared  something, 
and  warned  the  council  against  this  movement.  But  their 
cursed  desire  to  possess  the  lands  must  precipitate  all  the 
dangers  I  have  been  looking  for.  I  told  them  that  the 
Yemassees  were  discontented,  and  that  the  utmost  care  must  be 
taken  not  to  goad  them  too  far.  I  saw  this  in  the  sullen- 
ness  of  old  Sanutee  himself,  and  they  have  given  wings  to 
the  mischief  by  their  imprudence.  But  how  was  it,  Sir 
Edmund?  let  us  have  particulars." 

The  circumstances,  as  already  narrated,  were  soon  told, 
and  the  countenance  of  Harrison  bespoke  the  anxious 
thoughts  in  his  bosom.  Turning  to  Granger,  at  length,  he 
addressed   the   trader   inquiringly: 

"  Can  you  say  nothing  more  than  this — what  have  you 
learned  touching  Ishiagaska?  Was  it  as  I  feared?  Had  he 
been  to  St.  Augustine  ?  " 

"  He  had,  my  lord, — " 

"  Harrison — Harrison — Captain  Harrison,"  impatiently 
exclaimed  the  person  addressed — "  forget  [not]  while  here, 
that  I  have  no  other  title.     Go  on." 

"  Ishiagaska,  sir,  and  old  Choluculla,  both  of  them  have 
been  to  St.  Augustine,  and  have  but  a  week  ago  returned, 
loaded  with  presents." 

"  Ay,  ay,  the  storm  gathers,  and  we  must  look  to  it,  gentle- 
men commissioners.  This  matter  hurries  it  onward.  They 
were  making  their  preparations  fast  enough  before,  and  they 
will  now  find  reason  enough,  in  their  passions  and  our 
cupidity,  for  instant  action.  Yet  you  say  that  Sanutee 
saved   you." 

"  He  did,  and  seemed  friendly  enough." 

"  Said  he  aught  of  disapproval  to  their  proceedings  ? — 
made  he  any  professions  of  regard  to  the  English  ?  " 

"  He  said  little,  but  that  was  friendly,  and  his  interposi- 
tion for  our  safety — " 

"  Was  his  policy.  He  is  a  cunning  savage,  but  I  see 
through  him.  He  does  not  wish  to  alarm  us,  for  they  can 
only  conquer  by  disarming  our  caution;  and  this  is  my 
greatest  fear.    Our  people  are  so  venturous  that  they  refuse  to 


THE  YEMASSEE.  109 

believe  any  evidence  short  of  actual  demonstration,  and  every 
day  finds  them  thrusting  their  heads  and  shoulders  farther 
and  farther  into  the  mouth  of  the  enemy,  and  without  the 
chance  of  support  from  their  friends.  They  will  grow  wise 
at  a  fearful  price,  or  I  am  greatly  deceived." 

"But  what  do  you  propose,  my  lord,  if  you  look  for  an 
insurrection  near  at  hand?"  asked  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger. 

"  I  might  answer  you  readily  enough,  Sir  Edmund,  by 
asking  you  wherefore  I  am  here.  But  please  style  me  Harri- 
son, and  if  that  be  too  abrupt  in  its  expression,  to  your  own 
e§irs — it  will  not  be  to  mine — then  make  it  Master  or  Cap- 
tain Gabriel  Harrison.  It  is  something  of  my  game  to  see  for 
myself  the  difficulties  and  the  dangers  at  hand,  and  for  this 
reason  I  now  play  the  spy.  Here.  I  am  perfectly  unknown — 
save  to  one  or  two  persons — except  as  the  captain  of  a  little 
troop,  whose  confidence  I  secured  in  the  affair  with  your 
Coosaws  and  Ashepoos,  and  which  I  embodied  on  that  occa- 
sion. Still,  they  only  know  me  as  Captain  Harrison,  and, 
somehow  or  other,  they  are  well  enough  content  with  me  in 
that  character." 

"  And  think  you  that  there  is  an  insurrection  at  hand  ?  " 

u  That,  Sir  Edmund,  is  my  fear.  It  is  the  question  which 
we  must  examine.  It  is  vitally  important  that  we  should 
know.  Our  borderers  are  not  willing  to  come  out.  unless  for 
serious  cause,  and  to  call  them  out  prematurely  would  not 
only  tax  the  colony  beyond  its  resources,  but  would  dismiss 
the  present  rulers  of  the  people,  with  curses  both  loud  and 
deep,  to  the  unambitious  retreats  of  home  and  fireside.  They 
are  turbulent  enough  now,  and  this  matter  of  religion,  which 
our  lords  proprietors  in  England,  the  bigoted  old  Granville* 
in  particular,  seem  so  willing,  with  their  usual  stupidity,  to 
meddle  with,  has  completely  maddened  these  same  people,  in 
whose  watery  county  of  Granville  we  now  stand." 

"And  what  do  you  propose  to  do?" 

"Why,  surely  to  gain  what  information  we  can,  before 
calling  the  people  to  arms.  To  render  them  cautious,  is  all 
that  we  can  do  at  present.    The  evidence  which  I  have  of  this 

*  John  Lord  Granville,  fifth  palatine  of  Carolina,  under  whose 
direction  an  attempt  was  made  in  1704  to  exclude  dissenter 
from  participation  in  the  government  of  the  Colony. 


110  THE  YEMASSEE. 

approaching  insurrection,  though  enough  for  suspicion,  will 
scarcely  be  considered  enough  for  action;  and  I  must  con- 
tinue to  spy  myself,  and  engage  others  in  the  work,  so  as  to 
keep  pace  with  their  movements.  They  must  be  watched 
closely, — ay,  and  in  every  quarter,  Sir  Edmund,  for,  let  me 
tell  you,  that  in  }^our  own  barony  of  Ashepoo,  they  are  quite 
as  devilishly  inclined  as  here.  They  are  excited  all  around 
us." 

"'But  I  have  seen  nothing  of  all  this,"  was  the  reply  of 
the  landgrave.  "  The  Ashepoos,  what  are  left  of  them,  seem 
quiet  enough  in  my  neighbourhood." 

"  To  be  sure  they  are,  while  in  the  presence  of  Sir  Edmund 
Bellinger,  the  immediate  authority  of  the  English  in  their 
country.  But  did  you  strip  yourself  of  your  authority,  as 
I  have  done,  for  I  am  just  from  that  very  quarter;  put  on 
the  dress,  and  some  of  the  slashing  and  bilbo  swagger  of  a 
drunken  captain  from  the  Low  Countries,  to  whom  a  pot 
of  sour  ale  is  the  supreme  of  felicity,  they  had  shown  you 
more  of  their  true  nature.  Some  of  my  evidence  would 
amuse  you.  For  example,  I  crossed  the  river  last  night  to 
the  house  of  Tamaita,  an  old  squaw  who  tells  fortunes  in 
the  very  centre  of  Terrapin  swamp,  where  she  is  surrounded 
by  as  damnable  an  assemblage  of  living  alligators,  as  would 
have  made  happy  all  the  necromancers  of  the  past  ages.  She 
told  me  my  fortune,  which  she  had  ready  at  my  hand,  and 
which,  if  true,  will  certainly  make  me  a  convert  to  her 
philosophy.  But,  with  her  predictions,  she  gave  me  a  great 
deal  of  advice,  probably  with  the  view  to  their  being  more 
perfectly  verified.  Among  other  things,  she  promised  us  a 
great  deal  of  lightning  soon;  a  promise  which  you  would 
naturally  enough  suppose,  meant  nothing  more  than  one  of 
our  summer  afternoon  thunder  storms,  which,  by  the  way,  are 
terrible   enough." 

"  What  else  should  she  mean  ?  " 

"  Her  lightning  signified  the  arrows  of  the  Yemassees.  In 
this  way,  they  figure  the  rapidity  and  the  danger  attending 
the  flight  of  their  long  shafts.  The  promise  tallied  well  with 
the  counsel  of  Sanutee,  who  advised  me  yesterday  to  be  off  in 
the  big  canoe." 

"  Which  advice  you  decline — you  propose  still  to  continue 


THE  YEMASSEE.  Ill 

here,    my   lord — Captain    Harrison,    I    mean,"    replied    Sir 
Edmund. 

,  "  Of  God's  surety,  I  will,  Sir  Edmund.  Can  I  else  now  ? 
I  must  watch  this  movement  as  well  as  I  can,  and  make  our 
people  generally  do  so,  or  the  tomahawk  and  fire  will  sweep 
them  off  in  a  single  night.  Apart  from  that,  you  know  this 
sort  of  adventure  is  a  pleasure  to  me,  and  there  is  a  some- 
thing of  personal  interest  in  some  of  my  journey ings,  which 
I  delight  to  see  ripen." 

, Bellinger  smiled,  and  Harrison  continued  with  an  air  of 
the  most  perfect  business — 

"But  speed  on  your  journey,  gentlemen — the  sooner  the 
better.  Make  the  best  of  your  way  to  Charleston,  but  trust 
not  to  cross  the  land  as  you  came.  Keep  from  the  woods; 
for  the  journey  that  way  is  a  slow  one,  and  if  things  turn 
out  as  I  fear,  they  will  swarm  before  long  with  enemies,  even 
to  the  gates  of  Charleston.  Do  me  grace  to  place  these  de- 
spatches safely  with  their  proper  trusts.  The  assembly  will 
read  them  in  secret.  This  to  the  lieutenant-governor,  who 
will  act  upon  it  immediately.  Despatch  now,  gentlemen — 
I  have  hired  a  boat,  which  Granger  will  procure  for  you  from 
Grimstead." 

The  commissioners  were  soon  prepared  for  travel,  and 
took  their  departure  at  once  for  the  city.  Granger,  after 
they  had  gone,  returned  to  the  conference  with  Harrison  at 
the  Chief's  Bluff,  where  the  latter  continued  to  linger. 

"  Have  you  seen  Hector  ?  "  asked  the  latter. 

"  I  have  not,  sir." 

"  Indeed.  Strange !  He  had  a  charge  from  me  yesterday 
to  take  the  track  of  a  sea-faring  fellow,  whom  I  encountered, 
and  of  whom  I  had  suspicions — after  that,  he  was  told  to 
cross  over,  and  give  you  intelligence  of  my  being  here." 

"  I  have  seen  nothing  of  him." 

"  The  blockhead  has  plunged  into  trap  then.  I  doubt  not. 
Confound  him,  for  a  dull  beast.  To  be  absent  at  this  time, 
when   I   so   much  want   him." 

While  Harrison  thus  vented  his  anger  and  disquiet, 
Granger,  suddenly  recollecting  that  he  had  been  hailed  the 
afternoon  before,  by  some  one  in  a  boat,  as  he  was  proceeding 
rapidly   to   join   the   commissioners   in    Pocota-ligo — though 


112  THE  YEMASSEE. 

without  knowing  the  voice  or  hearing  it  repeated — now 
related  the  circumstance,  and  at  once  satisfied  the  person  he 
addressed  of  the  correctness  of  his  apprehensions. 

"  Ha — he  is  then  in  that  sailor's  clutches.  But  he  shall 
disgorge  him.  I'll  not  lose  Hector,  on  any  terms.  He's 
the  very  prince  of  body  servants,  and  loves  me,  I  verily 
believe,  as  I  do  my  mistress.  He  must  not  suffer.  Look  forth, 
Granger,  you  have  sharp  eyes — look  forth,  and  say  what  you 
think  of  the  craft,  lying  there  at  the  Broad-bend." 

"  I  have  watched  her,  sir,  for  the  last  hour,  but  can't  say 
for  certain  what  to  think.  It  is  easier  to  say  what  she  is  not, 
than  what  she  is." 

"  That  will  do — say  what  she  is  not,  and  I  can  readily 
satsify  myself  as  to  what  she  is." 

Ci  She  has  no  colours — her  paint's  fresh,  put  on  since  she 
has  been  in  these  waters.  She  is  not  a  Spaniard,  sir,  nor  is 
she  English,  that's  certain." 

"  Well,  what  next,  Sir  Sagacity?  " 

The  trader  paused  a  few  moments,  as  if  to  think,  then,  with 
an  assured  manner,  and  without  seeming  to  annex  any  great 
importance  to  the  communication  which  he  made,  he  dryly 
replied — 

"Why,  sir,  she's  neither  one  thing  nor  another  in  look, 
but  a  mixture  of  all.  Now,  when  that's  the  case  in  the  look 
of  a  vessel,  it's  a  sign  that  the  crew  is  a  mixture,  and  that 
there  is  no  one  person  regulating.  It's  left  to  them  to  please 
their  taste  in  most  things,  and  so  that  paint  seems  put  on 
as  if  Dutch  and  French,  Spanish  and  Portuguese,  and  Eng- 
lish, all  had  some  hand  in  it.  There's  yellow  and  black,  red 
and  green,  and  all  colours,  I  make  out,  where  no  one  nation 
would  employ  more  than  one  or  two  of  them." 

"Wei],  what  do  you  infer  from  all  that?" 

"  I  think,  sir,  she's  a  pirate,  or  what's  no  better,  a  Spanish 
guarda-costa." 

"  The  devil  you  do,  and  Hector  is  in  her  jaws !  But  what 
other  reasons  have  you  for .  this  opinion  ?  " 

"  What  is  she  doing  here — having  no  intercourse  with  the 
people — keeping  off  from  the  landing — showing  no  colours, 
and  yet  armed  to  the  teeth?  If  there  be  nothing  wrong,  sir, 
why  this  concealment  and  distance  ?  " 


THE  YEMASSEE.  113 

"  You, jump  readily  and  with  some  reason  to  a  conclusion, 
Granger,  and  you  may  be  right.  Now  hear  my  thought. 
That  vessel  comes  from  St.  Augustine,  and  brings  arms  to  the 
Yemassees,  and  urges  on  this  very  insurrection  of  which  you 
had  a  taste  last  night." 

"Very  likely,  and  she  may  be  a  pirate,  too.  They  are 
thick  about  the  coast." 

"Ay,  Granger,  as  the  contents  of  some  of  your  packages 
might"  tell  if  they  had  tongues,"  said  Harrison,  with  a  smile. 
'"  God  forbid,  captain,"  exclaimed  the  trader,  with  a  simple 
gravity  which  rose  into  honest  dignity  as  he  continued — "I 
can  show  bills  for  all  my  goods,  from  worthy  citizens  in 
Charleston  and  elsewhere." 

"Xo  matter;  I  charge  you  not.  But  you  may  be  right. 
To  be  a  pirate  and  a  Spaniard  are  not  such  distinct  matters, 
and  now  I  think  with  you,  the  probability  is,  she  is  both. 
But  what  I  mean  to  say,  Granger,  is  this— that  she  comes  here 
now  with  no  mere  piratical  intent,  but  to  serve  other  and 
perhaps  worse  purposes— else,  what  keeps  her  from  plunder- 
ing the  shore  ?  " 

"The  best  reason  in  the  world,  sir;  it's  a  long  reach  she 
must  go  through  before  she  safely  keels  the  sea.  It's  slow 
work  to  get  from  the  bay  of  the  Broad,  and  a  wind  takes  its 
pleasure  in  coming  to  fill  up  a  sail  in  this  crooked  water. 
Let  them  once  do  what  they  came  for,  and  make  the  coast, 
then  look  out  for  the  good  merchantmen  who  find  their  way 
into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico." 

"Well,  whether  Spaniard,  or  pirate,  or  Dutch  Flyaway, 
we  must  get  Hector  out  of  her  jaws,  if  it's  only  to  keep  him 
a  gentleman,  and — but  stay,  she  drops  a  boat.  Do  you  make 
out  who  comes  in  it  ?  " 

"  Two  men  pull—" 

"  Certain.    Who  again,  Mercury?  " 

"A  bluff,  stout  fellow,  sits  astern,  wears  a  blue  jacket, 
and—" 

"A  gold  chain?" 

"  He  does,  sir,  with  thick-hanging  shining  buttons." 

"The  same.     That's  Hercules." 

"Who,  sir?" 

"  Hercules  or  Ajax,  I  don't  remember  which.     I  gave  him 


114    .  THE  YEMASSEE. 

one  or  other,  or  both  names  yesterday,  and  shall  probably 
find  another  for  him  to-day;  for  I  must  have  Hector  out  of 
him !    He  shapes  for  the  shore — does  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and  from  his  present  course,  he  will  make  the 
parson's  landing/' 

"  Ha !  say  you  so,  most  worthy  trader  ?  Well,  we  shall  be 
at  the  meeting."  "  Yes,"  muttered  the  speaker,  rather  to 
himself  than  to  his  companion — "  we  shall  be  at  the  meeting ! 
He  must  not  look  upon  my  pretty  Bess  without  seeing  the 
good  fortune  which  the  fates  yield  her,  in  the  person  of  her 
lover.  We  shall  be  there,  Granger ;  and,  not  to  be  unprovided 
with  the  means  for  effecting  the  escape  of  Hector,  let  us 
call  up  some  of  our  choice  spirits — some  of  the  Green 
Foresters — they  know  the  signal  of  their  captain,  and  thanks 
to  fortune,  I  left  enough  for  the  purpose  at  the  smithy  of 
Dick  Grimstead.  Come,  man  of  wares  and  merchandises — be 
packing." 

Leading  the  way  from  the  hill,  Harrison,  followed  by 
Granger,  descended  to  the  level  forest  about  a  mile  off,  in  the 
immediate  rear  of  the  Block  House,  and,  placing  his  hunting 
horn  to  his  lips,  he  sounded  it  thrice  with  a  deep  clear  note, 
which  called  up  a  dozen  echoes  from  every  dell '  in  the  sur- 
rounding woods.  The  sounds  had  scarcely  ceased  to  reveberate 
before  they  were  replied  to,  in  a  long  and  mellow  roll,  from 
one,  seemingly  a  perfect  master  of  the  instrument,  who,  even 
after  the  response  had  been  given,  poured  forth  a  generous 
blast,  followed  by  a  warbling  succession  of  cadences,  meltino- 
away  at  last  into  a  silence  which  the  ear,  having  carefully 
treasured  up  the  preceding  notes,  almost  refused  to  acknowl- 
edge. From  another  point  in  the  woods,  a  corresponding 
strain  thrice  repeated,  followed  soon  after  the  first,  and 
announced  an  understanding  among  the  parties,  to  which 
the  instrument  had  been  made  ably  subservient. 

"  These  are  my  Green  Jackets,  Granger ;  you  have  made 
money  out  of  that  colour,  my  Plutus — my  own  green  jacket 
boys,  true  as  steel,  and  swift  as  an  Indian  arrow.  Come, 
let  us  bury  ourselves  a  little  deeper  in  the  thick  woods,  where, 
in  half  an  hour,  you  may  see  a  dozen  of  the  same  colour  at 
the  gathering." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  115 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The   boat   from   the   "unknown   vessel   reached   the   point 
jutting  out  into  the  river,  in  front  of  the  dwelling  of  the  old 
pastor;  and  the  seaman,  already  more  than  once  introduced 
to  our  notice,  leaving  the  two  men  in  charge  of  it,  took  his 
way  to  the  habitation  in  question.     The  old  man  received  the 
stranger  with  all  the  hospitalities  of  the  region,  and  ushered 
him  into  the  presence  of  his  family  with  due  courtesy,  though 
as  a  stranger.     The  seaman  seemed  evidently  to  constrain 
himself  while  surveying  the  features  of  the  inmates,  which 
he  did  with  some  curiosity;  and  had  Harrison  been  present, 
he  might  have  remarked,  with  some  dissatisfaction,  the  long, 
earnest,  and  admiring  gaze  which,  in  this  survey,  the  beauti- 
ful features  of  Bess  Matthews  were  made  to  undergo,  to  her 
own  evident  disquiet.    After  some  little  chat,  with  that  bluff, 
free,  hearty  manner  which  is  the  happy  characteristic  of  the 
seafaring  man, — the  frankness,  in  some  degree,  relieving  the 
roughness  of  the  man's   speech  and  manner, — the   stranger 
contrived   to  remove  much  of   the  unfavourable   impression 
which  his  gross   and  impudent  cast   of  face   had  otherwise 
made;  and,  in  reply  to  a  natural  inquiry  of  the  pastor,  he 
gave  a  brief  account  of  the  nature  of  his  pursuits  in  that 
quarter.     A  close  and  scrutinizing  legal  mind  might  have 
picked  out  no  small  number  of  flaws  in  the  yarn  which  he 
spun,  yet  to  the  unsophisticated  sense  of  the  little  family, 
the  story  was  straightforward  and  clear  enough.     The  trade 
in  furs  and  skins,  usually  carried  on  with  the  Indians,  was 
well  known  to  be  exceedingly  valuable  in  many  of  the  Euro- 
pean  markets;   and,   with   this   declared   object   the   seaman 
accounted  for  his  presence  in  a  part  of  the  world,  not  often 
honoured  with  the  visit  of  a  vessel  of  so  much  pretension  as 
that  which  he  commanded.    From  one  thing  to  another,  with 
a  fluent,  dashing  sort  of  speech,  he  went  on — now  telling  of 
his  own,  and  now  of  the  adventures  of  others,  and,  bating  an 
occasional  oath,  which  invariably  puckered  up  the  features  of 


016  THE  YEMASSEE. 

the  old  Puritan,  he  contrived  to  make  himself  sufficiently 
agreeable,  and  after  a  very  passable  fashion.  Bessy  did  not, 
it  is  true,  incline  the  ear  after  the  manner  of  Desdemona  to 
her  Blackamoor;  but  in  the  anecdote,  of  adventure,  which 
every  now  and  then  enriched  the  rambling  speech  of  their 
guest,  either  in  the  tale  of  his  own,  or  of  the  achievements 
of  others,  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  the  simple  girl 
J  found  much,  in  spite  of  herself,  to  enlist  her  curiosity  and 
command  her  attention.  Nor  was  he  less  influenced  by  her 
presence  than  she  by  his  narrative.  Though  spoken  generally, 
much  of  his  conversation  was  seemingly  addressed  in  especial 
to  the  maiden.  With  this  object,  he  sprinkled  his  story  with 
the  wonders  of  the  West  Indies,  with  all  of  which  he  appeared 
familiar — spoke  of  its  luscious  fruits  and  balmy  climate — its 
groves  of  lemon  and  of  orange — its  dark-eyed  beauties,  and 
numerous  productions  of  animal  and  vegetable  life.  Then 
of  its  gold  and  jewels,  the  ease  of  their  attainment,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  which  the  vulgar  mind  would  be  apt  to 
suppose  exceedingly  attractive  and  overcoming  to  the  weak 
one.  Having  said  enough,  as  he  thought,  fairly  and  fully 
to  dazzle  the  imagination  of  the  girl — and,  secure  now  of  a 
favourable  estimate  of  himself,  he  drew  from  his  bosom  a 
little  casket,  containing  a  rich  gold  chain  of  Moorish  filigree 
work,  arabesque  wrought,  and  probably  a  spoil  of  Grenada, 
and  pressed  it  on  her  acceptance.  Her  quick  and  modest,  but 
firm  rejection  of  the  proffered  gift,  compelled  the  open  expres- 
sion of  his  astonishment. 

"  And  wherefore  not — young  lady  ?  The  chain  is  not  unbe- 
coming for  the  neck,  though  that  be  indeed  the  whitest. 
Now,  the  girls  of  Spain,  with  a  skin  nothing  to  be  compared 
with  yours,  they  wear  such  necklaces  as  thick  as  grape  vines. 
Come,  now — don't  be  shy  and  foolish.  The  chain  is  rich,  and 
worth  a  deal  of  money.  Let  me  lock  it  now  about  your  neck. 
You  will  look  like  a  queen  in  it — a  queen  of  all  the  Indies 
could  not  look  more  so/' 

But  the  sailor  blundered  grossly.  Bess  Matthews  was  a 
thinking,  feeling  woman,  and  he  addressed  her  as  a  child. 
She  had  now  recovered  from  the  interest  which  she  had 
shown  while  he  narrated  adventures  which  excited  her  imagi- 
nation, and  set  her  fancy  in  glow ; — conjuring  up  and  putting 


THE  YEMASSEE.  117 

into  activity  many  of  those  wondrous  dreams  which  the  young 
romancer  has  so  ready  at  all  times  in  thought — and  she  soon 
convinced  him  that  he  had  greatly  mistaken  her,  when  he 
was  so  willing  to  transfer  to  himself  the  attention  which  she 
had  simply  yielded  to  his  stories.  He  began  to  discover  that 
he  had  mistaken  his  person,  when  he  beheld  the  alteration  in 
her  tone  and  manner;  and  sunk  away,  somewhat  abashed,  at 
the  lofty  air  with  which  she  rejected  the  gift,  and  resented 
the  impertinent  familiarity  of  his  offer.  But,  his  discour- 
agement was  only  for  a  moment.  He  soon  recovered  his  con- 
fidence. If  he  had  surprised  the  daughter  by  his  freedom, 
he  was  soon  to  astonish  the  father.  Suddenly  turning  to  the 
old  man,  he  said  abruptly: — 

"  AVhy,  Matthews,  you  have  made  your  daughter  as  great 
a  saint  as  yourself.  Ha !  I  see  you  stagger.  Didn't  know 
me,  eh !  Didn't  remember  your  old  parish  acquaintance. 
Dick  Chorley." 

The  pastor  looked  at  him  with  some  interest,  but  with 
more   seeming  commiseration. 

"  And  are  you  the  little  Eichard  ?  " 

"  Little,  indeed — that's  a  good  one.  I  was  once  little,  and 
little  enough,  when  you  knew  me, — but  I  am  big  enough  now, 
John  Matthews,  to  have  myself  righted  .when  wrong  is  done 
me.  It  is  not  now,  that  the  parish  beadle  can  flog  little  Dick 
Chorley.  Xot  now,  by  thunder ! — and  it's  been  a  sore  sorrow 
with  some  of  them,  I  think,  that  it  ever  was  the  case." 

"  Well,  Richard,  I'm  glad  to  find  you  so  much  better  off* 
in  the  world,  and  with  a  better  disposition  to  work  for  your- 
self honestly,  than  in  old  times,"  said  the  pastor  gravely. 

"  Hark  ye,  Matthews — no  more  of  that.  That's  as  it  may 
be.  Perhaps  I'm  better — perhaps  I'm  not.  It's  none  of 
your  business  either  one  way  or  the  other;  and  to  look  back 
too  closely  into  old  time  doings,  ain't  a  friend's  part,  I'm 
thinking.  Blast  me !  old  man,  but  you  had  nearly  made  me 
forget  myself;  and  I  wouldn't  like  to  say  rough  things  to 
you  or  any  of  yours,  for  I  can't  but  remember  you  were  always 
more  kind  to  me  than  the  rest,  and  if  I  had  minded  you  I 
might  have  done  better.  But  what's  done  can't  be  undone, 
and  the. least  said  is  soonest  mended." 

"  I  meant  not  to  speak  harshly,  Eichard,  when  I  spoke  of 


118  THE  YEMASSEE. 

the  past,"  said  the  pastor,  mildly,  "  but  the  exile  finds  it 
sweet  to  remember,  even  those  things  which  were  sorrows  in 
his  own  land.  I  find  it  so  with  me;  and  though,  to  speak 
plainly,  Richard,  I  would  rather  not  see  you  to  know  you 
as  of  old,  yet  the  recognition  of  your  person,  for  a  moment, 
gave  me  a  sentiment  of  pleasure." 

"And  why  should  it  not — and  why  should  it  not?  Blast 
me  !  old  man,  but  you  don't  think  I'm  the  same  ragged  urchin 
that  the  parish  fed  and  flogged — that  broke  his  master's  head, 
and  was  the  laughing-stock  and  the  scapegoat  of  every  gentle- 
man rascal  in  the  shire? — no,  no.  The  case  is  changed  now, 
and  if  I'm  no  better,  I'm  at  least  an  abler  man;  and  that 
stands  for  right  and  morality  all  the  world  over.  I'm  doing 
well  in  the  world,  Matthews — drive  a  good  trade — own  a 
half  in  as  handsome  a  clipper  as  ever  swum  in  the  blue 
waters  of  the  gulf;  and,  if  the  world  will  let  me,  I  shall 
probably  in  little  time  be  as  good — that  is  to  say  as  rich  a 
man — as  any  of  them.  If  they  won't,  they  must  look  out  for 
themselves,  that's  all." 

"  One  thing  pleases  me,  at  least,  Richard,"  said  the  pastor, 
gravely,  "  and  that  is  to  find  your  pursuits  such  that  you  need 
not  be  ashamed  of  them.  This  should  give  you  an  honest 
pride,  as  it  certainly  yields  me  great  pleasure." 

There  was  rather  more  of  inquiry  than  of  remark  in  this 
observation,  and  Chorle}^  saw  it. 

"  Ay,  ay,  if  it  pleases  you,  I'm  satisfied.  You  are  a  good 
judge  of  what's  right,  and  can  say.  For  my  part,  I  make 
it  a  rule  to  boast  nothing  of  my  virtue.  It  takes  the  polish 
off  a  good  action  to  turn  it  over  too  often  in  one's  mouth." 

There  was  a  satirical  chuckle  following  the  speech  of  the 
sailor  which  the  pastor  did  not  seem  to  relish.  It  seemed  to 
sneer  at  the  joint  homilies  which  they  had  been  uttering. 
The  dialogue  was  changed  by  the  pastor. 

"  And  where  is  your  mother  now,  Richard  ?  " 

"  Ask  the  parish  church-yard — it  has  one  grave  more,  that 
I  can  swear  for,  than  when  you  left  it;  and,  though  I'm 
bad  at  grammar,  I  could  read  the  old  woman's  name  upon  the 
stick  at  the  head.  When  she  died  I  came  off.  I  couldn't  stand 
it  then,  though  I  stood  it  well  enough  before.  They  have 
not  seen  me  since,   nor   I  them — and  there's   no   love  lost 


THE  YEMASSEE.  119 

between  us.    If  I  ever  go  back,  it  will  be  to  see  the  old  beadle 
and  that  grave-stick." 

"I  hope  you  harbour  no  malice,  Richard,  against  the  man 
for  doing  his  duty  ?  " 

"His  duty?" 
\    "Yes,  his  duty.     He  was  the  officer  of  the  law,  and  com- 
pelled to  do  what  he  did.    Wherefore  then  would,  you  go  back 
to  see  him,  simply — and  why  do  you  strangely  couple  him  in 
your  memory  with  your  mother's  grave  ?  " 

"  Ha  !  that's  it.  He  broke  her  heart  by  his  treatment  to 
me,  and  I  would  break  his  scull  upon  her  grave  as  a  satisfac- 
tion to  both  of  us.  I  did  wrong  when  a  boy,  that's  like 
enough,  for  older  people  did  wrong  daily  about  me;  but  was 
my  public  disgrace  to  cure  me  of  my  wrong?  They  put  me 
in  the  stocks,  then  expected  me  to  be  a  good  citizen.  Wise 
enough.  I  tell  you  what.  Matthews,  I've  seen  something 
more  of  the  world  than  you,  though  you've  seen  more  years 
than  I ;  and  mark  my  word !  whenever  a  man  becomes  a  bad 
man— a  thief,  an  outlaw,  or  a  murderer— his  neighbours 
have  to  thank  themselves  for  three-fourths  of  the  teachings 
that  have  made  him  so.  But  this  is  enough  on  this  talk.  Let 
us  say  something  now  of  yourself— and  first,  how  do  you  like 
this  part  of  the  world?" 

"  As  well  as  can  be  expected.  I  am  indifferent  to  any  other, 
and  I  have  quiet  here,  which  I  had  not  always  in  the  turbulent 
changes  of  England.  My  family  too  are  satisfied,  and  their 
contentment  makes  the  greater  part  of  mine." 

"  You'd  find  it  better  and  pleasanter  in  Florida.  I  drive  a 
good  business  there  with  the  Spaniard.  I'm  rather  one  my- 
self now.  and  carry. his  flag,  though  I  trade  chiefly  on  my 
own  log." 

The  dialogue  was  here  broken  in  upon  by  the  entrance  of 
Harrison,  who.  in  spite  of  the  cold  courtesies  of  the  pastor, 
and  the  downcast  reserve  in  the  eyes  of  Bess  Matthews,  yet 
joined  the  little  group  with  the  composure  of  one  perfectly 
satisfied  of  the  most  cordial  reception. 


120  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


Before  resuming  with  these  parties,  let  us  retire  to  the 
green  wood  with  Harrison  and  the  trader.  We  have  heard  the 
merry  horn  of  his  comrades  responding  freely  to  that  of  the 
former.  "  You  shall  see  them,"  said  he  to  Granger — "  brave 
fellows  and  true,  and  sufficient  for  my  purpose.  I  can  rely 
upon  Grimstead,  the  smith,  and  his  brother,  certainly,  for 
I  left  them  but  a  couple  of  hours  ago  at  the  smithy.  Theirs 
was  the  first  answer  we  heard.  I  know  not  who  comes  the 
second,  but  I  look  for  Wat  Grayson  from  that  quarter,  and 
sure  enough,  he  is  here.  Ha !  Grayson,  you  are  true  and  in 
time,  as  usual.     I  give  you  welcome,  for  I  want  your  arm." 

"  And  at  your  service,  captain,  to  strike  deer  or  enemy,  for 
fight  or  labour.  Ha !  Granger — but  you  have  forgotten  my 
knife,  which  I've  sorely  wanted." 

"  It  is  here,  at  the  Block  House,  ready  for  you." 

"  Good  !  Well,  captain,  what's  the  service  now  ?  I'm  ready, 
you  see,  and  glad  that  you  feel  able  to  count  so  free  upon 
Wat  Grayson." 

"  You  shall  soon  see,  Grayson.  I  wait  for  but  a  few  more 
■of  the  boys,  to  show  you  the  work  before  us ;  and  in  order  not 
to  waste  more  time,  wind  your  horn,  and  let  the  men  come 
freely." 

The  horn  was  wound  again,  and  but  a  few  seconds  had 
elapsed  when  a  distant  reply  from  two  other  quarters  acknowl- 
edged the  summons.  In  a  few  moments  the  sturdy  black- 
smith, Grimstead,  followed  by  his  younger  brother,  penetrated 
the  little  area,  which  was  the  usual  place  of  assemblage.  A 
moment  after,  a  bustling  little  body,  known  as  Dr.  Nichols, 
the  only  medical  man  in  that  region,  also  entered  the  ring, 
mounted  upon  a  little  ambling  pony,  or  tacky  from  the  marsh 
— a  sturdy  little  animal  in  much  use,  though  of  repute 
infinitely  below  its  merits. 

"  Ha  !    doctor — our    worthy    Esculapius* — how    fares    it  ? 

*  Esculapius,  according  to  Grecian  mythology,  was  the  son  of 
Apollo.  By  his  skill  in  medicine  he  was  supposed  to  be  able  to 
restore  the  dead  to  life. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  121 

You  come  in  time,  for  we  look  to  have  some  bones  for  your 
setting  before  long,"  exclaimed  Harrison,  addressing  him. 
'  "Captain  Harrison,"  responded  the  little  professional, 
with  a  most  imposing  manner,  "it  gives  me  pleasure  at  any 
moment  to  do  my  country  service.  I  am  proud  that  my  poor 
ability  may  be  called  into  exercise,  though  I  should  rather 
have  you  invoke  my  personal  than  professional  offices. 

"We  shall  need  both,   doctor,  most  probably.     We  must 

'  first  risk  our  bones  before  the  surgeon  may  hope  to  handle 

them;  and  in  doing  so,  have  no  scruple  that  he  should  risk  his 

along  with  us."  .     __      .       0„ 

"  And  wherefore,  may  I  ask,  Captain  Harrison  t 
"  Simplv,  doctor,  that  he  may  be  taught  a  due  lesson  of 
sympathy/bv  his  own  hurts,  which  shall  make  him  tender  ot 
ours.    But  we  are  slow.    Who  have  we  here  to  count  on  for  a 

brush?"  .  _  .Anm 

«  Count  on  Dick  Grimstead,  captain,  and  you  may  put  down 
Tom  with  him;  but  not  as  doctors.— Fm  not  for  the  doctor- 
ing, captain." 

"  Irreverend  fellow  !  "  muttered  Kichols. 

Harrison  laughed,  and  proceeded  to  enumerate  and  arrange 
his  men  who  soon,  including  himself  and  Granger,  amounted 
to  seven.     He  himself  carried  pistols,  and  the  short  German 
rifle  already  described.     The  rest  had  generally  either  the 
clumsv  muskets  of  the  time,  or  the  tomahawk,  an  instrument 
almost  as  formidable,  and  certainly  quite  as  necessary  m  the 
forests      Some  of  them  were  dressed  in  the  uniform  of  the 
«  cneen-iackets,"  the  corps  which  had  been  raised  by  Harrison 
in' the   Coosaw   war,    and   which  he   commanded.      1  hough 
io-norant  entirely  of  his  character  and  pursuits,  yet  his  suc- 
cessful heading  of  them  in  that  sudden  insurrection    at  a 
moment  of  great  emergency,  not  less  than  the  free,  attable 
and  forward  manner  which  characterized  him.  had  endeared 
him  to  them  generallv;  and,  unlike  the  pastor,  they  were 
content  with  this  amount  of  their  knowledge  of  one  whom 
they  had  learned  not  less  to  love  than  to  obey. 

Harrison  looked  round  upon  his  boys,  as  he  called  them, 
not  heeding  sundry  efforts  which  Nichols  made  to  command 
his  attention.    Suddenly  addressing  Grayson,  he  asked— 
"Where's  Murray?" 


122  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  Sick,  captain — on  the  flat  of  his  back,  or  I  had  brought 
him  with  me.  He  lies  sick  at  Joe  Gibbons',  up  by  Bates', 
where  he's  been  running  up  a  new  house  for  Gibbons." 

"  He  must  come  from  that,  Grayson.  It  is  too  far  from  the 
Block  House  for  any  of  them,  and  for  a  sick  man  it  will  be 
hopeless,  if  there  should  be  war.  He  is  not  safe  there,  Gray- 
son, you  must  move  him." 

"  That's  impossible,  captain.  He  can't  move,  he's  down 
flat  with  the  fever." 

"  Then  you  must  bring  him  off  on  your  shoulders,  or  get  a 
cart,  for  he  is  not  safe  where  he  is.  There  is  danger  of  insur- 
rection here.  The  Yemassees  are  at  mischief,  and  we  shall, 
before  very  long,  have  the  war-whoop  ringing  in  our  ears. 
We  must  clear  the  borders  of  our  people,  or  the  Yemassees 
will  do  it  for  us." 

"  And  I'm  ready,  captain,  as  soon  as  they,"  exclaimed 
Grayson ;  "  and  that's  the  notion  of  more  than  Wat  Grayson. 
The  boys  generally,  long  for  something  to  do;  and,  as  we 
go  up  the  river,  the  Indians  get  too  monstrous  impudent  to 
be  borne  with  much  longer." 

"  True,  Grayson — but  we  must  wait  their  pleasure.  I  only 
give  you  my  suspicions,  and  they  amount  to  nothing,  so  long 
as  the  Yemassees  profess  peace." 

"  Oh,  hang  their  professions,  captain,  say  I.  I  don't  see 
why  we  should  wait  on  them  to  begin  the  brush,  seeing  it  must 
be  begun.  There's  nothing  like  a  dash  forward,  when  you  see 
you  have  to  go.  That's  my  notion;  and,  say  but  the  word, 
we'll  catch  the  weazel  asleep  when  he  thinks  to  catch  us.  All 
our  boys  are  ready  for  it,  and  a  ring  of  the  horn  round 
Alligator  Swamp  will  bring  a  dozen;  and  by  night  we  could 
have  Dick  Mason,  and  Spragg,  and  Baynton,  who  have  gone 
up  to  the  new  clearing  upon  the  fork  of  Tuliffinee." 

"It  is  well,"  said  Harrison,  "that  you  should  be  ready, 
but  it  is  for  the  council  to  make  war  and  peace, — not  for  us. 
We  can  only  provide  for  our  defence  in  case  of  assault,  and 
against  it  I  want  to  prepare  you,  for  I  greatly  apprehend  it. 
But,  in  the  meantime,  I  have  another  job  for  execution." 

Nichols,  now  finding  a  favourable  moment,  in  his  usual 
swelling  manner,  addressed  Harrison  and  the  company. 
Nichols,  we  may  mention,  is  an  incipient  demagogue;  one  of 


THE  YEMASSEE.  123 

an  old  school,  the  duties  of  which,  under  the  hotbed  foster- 
ings  of  our  benign  institutions,  have  largely  increased  the 
number  of  its  pupils  since  his  day.  His  hearers  knew  him 
well.  His  vanities  were  no  new  things  to  his  present 
companions. 

"  Captain  Harrison,  understand  me.  I  protest  my  willing- 
ness to  volunteer  in  any  matter  for  the  good  of  the  people. 
It  is  the  part  of  the  true  patriot  to  die  for  the  people,  and 
I'm  willing  when  the  time  comes.  Prepare  the  block,  unsheath 
the  sword,  and  provide  the  executioner, — and  I,  Constantine 
Maximilian  Xichols,  medical  doctor,  well  assured  that  in  my 
death  I  shall  save  my  country,  will  freely  yield  up  my  poor 
life,  even  as  the  noble  Decius*  of  old,  for  the  securing  of  so 
great  a  blessing  for  our  people.  But,  captain,  it  must  be  clear 
to  my  mind  that  the  necessity  is  such,  the  end  to  be  attained 
is  of  so  great  moment,  that  the  means  to  be  employed  are 
warranted  by  the  laws,  in  letter  and  in  spirit.  Speak,  there- 
fore, captain,  the  design  before  us.  Let  me  hear  your  pur- 
pose— let  my  mind  examine  into  its  bearings  and  its  tenden- 
cies, and  I  will  then  declare  myself." 

Harrison,  who  knew  the  doctor  quite  as  well  as  his  neigh- 
bours, with  singular  composure  preserved  his  gravity,  while 
the  foresters  laughed  aloud.     He  answered : 

"  Come  with  us,  Constantine  Maximilian — your  own  mind 
shall  judge." 

He  led  the  party  to  the  Chief's  Bluff,  and  from  the  eminence 
he  pointed  out  to  them  at  a  little  distance  below,  where  lay 
the  boat  of  the  schooner;  one  of  the  seamen  was  to  be  seen 
rambling  upon  the  land  at  a  little  distance  from  it,  while 
the  other  lay  in  its  bottom. 

"  Now,  Constantine/'  said  he,  "  behold  those  men.  I  want 
them  secured,  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  kept  until  farther 
orders." 

"  Show  me,  Captain  Harrison,  that  the  peace  of  the  country, 
the  lives  of  my  fellow-countrymen,  or  the  liberties  of  the 
people,  depend  upon  the  measure,  and  I  am  ready  to  yield  up 

*  Publius  Decius  Mus,  father,  son,  and  grandson,  all  of  the 
same  name.  Around  their  memory  many  traditions  of  noble 
heroism  grew,  notably  that  of  the  loss  of  life  for  the  salvation  of 
the   Roman   republic. 


124  THE  YEMASSEE. 

my  life  in  the  attainment  of  your  object.  Until  yon  do  this, 
captain,  I  decline;  and  must  furthermore  lift  up  my  voice 
in  adjuration  to  those  about  me,  against  acting  as  you  counsel, 
doing  this  great  wrong  to  the  men  whom  you  have  singled 
out  for  bondage,  depriving  them  of  their  liberties,  and  possibly 
their  lives." 

"  You  are  scrupulous,  doctor,  and  we  shall  have  to  do  with- 
out you.  We  shall  certainly  secure  those  two  men,  though  we 
meditate  nothing  against  the  liberties  of  the  people." 

"  I  shall  warn  them  by  my  voice  of  your  design  upon  them," 
was  the  dogged  resolve  of  the  doctor. 

"  Of  God's  surety,  if  you  dare,  Nichols,  I  shall  tumble  you 
headlong  from  the  bluff,"  sternly  responded  Harrison;  and 
the  patriot — to  whom  the  declamation  was  of  itself  the  only 
object  aimed  at,  constituting  the  chief  glory  in  his  desire — 
acknowledged,  while  shrinking  back,  that  the  threat  offered 
quite  a  new  view  of  the  case.  With  the  others,  Harrison  found 
no  difficulty.    He  proceeded — ■ 

"  Those  men  must  be  secured — they  are  but  two,  and  you 
are  five.  They  are  without  arms,  so  that  all  you  may  look 
for  in  the  affair  will  be  a  black  eye  or  bloody  nose.  This  will 
trouble  neither  of  you  much,  though  less  ready  than  Con- 
stantine  Maximilian  to  die  for  the  people.  Tumble  the  dogs 
into  the  sand  and  rope  them — but  do  them  no  more  damage 
than  is  necessary  for  that." 

"  Who  are  they,  captain  ?  "  asked  Grayson. 

"  Nay,  I  know  not ;  but  they  come  from  that  vessel,  and 
what  she  is  I  know  not.  One  thing  is  certain,  however,  and 
hence  my  proceeding:  in  that  vessel  they  have  safely  packed 
away  my  black  fellow,  Hector." 

"  The  devil  they  have — the  kidnappers !  " 

"Ay,  have  they;  and  unless  I  get  him  out  they  will  have 
him  in  the  Cuba  market,  and  heaven  knows  how  many  more 
besides  him,  in  twenty  days,  and  we  have  no  vessel  to  contend 
with  them.  There  is  but  one  way  to  give  them  a  taste  of 
what  they  may  expect.  You  secure  these  lads,  and  when  you 
have  done  so,  bring  them  round  to  Parson  Matthews,  sound 
your  horn,  and  I  shall  then  do  my  share  of  the  duty." 

Leaving  them  to  the  performance  of  this  task,  Harrison 
went  forward  to  the  cottage  of  the  pastor;  while,  headed  by 


THE  YEMASSEE.  125 

Grayson,  the  whole  party,  Xichols  not  excepted,  went  down 
the  bluff,  and  came  by  a  circuitous  route  upon  the  seamen. 
One  of  them  slept  in  the  boat  and  was  secured  without  any 
difficulty.  On  opening  his  eyes,  he  found  himself  closely 
grappled  by  a  couple  of  sturdy  woodsmen,  and  he  did  not  even 
venture  to  cry  aloud,  warned  as  he  had  been  against  such  a 
measure,  by  the  judicious  elevation  of  a  tomahawk  above  his 
head.  The  other  fellow  took  to  his  heels  on  seeing  the  cap- 
ture of  his  companion,  but  stood  no  manner  of  chance  with  the 
fleet-footed  foresters.  He  was  soon  caught,  and  Constantine 
Maximilian  Xichols  was  the  most  adroit  of  the  party  in  band- 
aging up  the  arms  of  both,  secundum  art  em.  Ah  !  if  the  good 
doctor  could  have  been  content  with  one  profession  only  !  but 
like  too  many  craving  creatures — who  enjoy  the  appetite  with- 
out knowing  how  to  feed — he  aimed  at  popular  favour.  His 
speeches  were  framed  solely  with  that  end,  and  he  accordingly 
prated  for  ever,  as  is  the  familiar  custom  always  among  the 
little  cunning,  about  those  rights  of  man  for  which  he  cared 
but  little.  He  was  not  judicious  in  his  declamation,  however ; 
he  professed  quite  too  largely;  and,  in  addition  to  this  mis- 
fortune, it  grew  into  a  faith  among  his  neighbours,  that, 
while  his  forms  of  speech  were  full  of  bloodshed  and  sacrifice, 
the  heart  of  the  doctor  was  benevolently  indifferent  to  all  the 
circumstances  and  the  joys  of  strife.  But  the  prisoners  were 
now  secured,  and,  under  close  guard,  were  marched  off,  agree- 
ably to  arrangement,  to  the  cottage  of  the  pastor. 


126  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

The  entrance  of  Harrison,  alone,  into  the  cottage  of.  the 
pastor,  put  a  stop  to  the  dialogue  which  had  been  going  on 
between  himself  and  the  seaman.  The  reception  which  the 
host  gave  the  new  comer,  was  singly  and  coldly  courteous — 
that  of  his  lady  was  more  grateful,  but  still  constrained;  as 
for  poor  little  Bess,  she  feared  to  look  up  at  all,  lest  all  eyes 
should  see  how  much  kinder  her  reception  would  have  been. 
Harrison  saw  all  this,  but  the  behaviour  of  the  pastor  seemed 
to  have  no  eifect  upon  him.  He  rattled  on  in  his  usual  man- 
ner, though  with  something  of  loftiness  still,  which  appeared 
to  intimate  a  character  of  condescension  in  his  approaches. 

"  Mr.  Matthews,  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  find  you  well — bet- 
ter, I  think,  than  when  I  had  the  pleasure  to  see  you  last. 
1  ou  see,  I  tax  your  courtesies,  though  you  could  find  no  rela- 
tives of  mine  in  Charleston  willing  to  extend  you  theirs.  But 
the  time  will  come,  sir,  and  your  next  visit  may  be  more  fruit- 
ful. Ah !  Mrs.  Matthews,  growing  young  again,  surely.  Do 
you  know  I  hold  this  climate  to  be  the  most  delightful  in  the 
world, — a  perfect  seat  of  health  and  youth,  in  which  the  old 
Spaniard  John  Ponce,  of  Leon,  would  certainly  have  come 
nigher  the  blessed  fountain  he  sought,  than  he  ever  could  have 
done  in  Florida.  And  you,  Bess — Miss  Matthews,  I  mean — 
still  sweet,  charming  as  ever.  Ah !  Mrs.  Matthews,  you  are 
thrice  fortunate — always  blessed.  Your  years  are  all  so  many 
summers — for  Providence  leaves  to  your  household,  in  all 
seasons,  one  flower  that  compensates  for  all  the  rest." 

And  thus,  half  playful,  half  serious,  Harrison  severally 
addressed  all  in  the  apartment,  the  sailor  excepted.  That 
worthy  looked  on,  and  listened  with  no  little  astonishment. 

"D — d  easy  to  be  sure,"  he  half  muttered  to  himself. 
Harrison,  without  distinguishing  the  words,  heard  the  sounds, 
and  readily  comprehending  their  tenour  from  the  look  which 
accompanied  them,  he  turned  as  playfully  to  the  speaker  as 
he  had  done  to  all  the  rest. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  127 

"  And  you,  my  handsome  Hercules — you  here  too  ? — I  left 
you  in  other  company,  when  last  we  met.  and  am  really  not 
sorry  that  you  got  off  without  being  made  to  feel  the  lonp- 
arrow  of  the  Yemassee.  Pray,  how  came  you  so  fortunate  ? 
Few  men  here  would  have  killed  the  dog  of  an  Indian,  without 
looking  for  the  loss  of  his  scalp,  and  a  broken  head  in  requital. 
Give  us  your  secret,  Hercules  ? " 

"  Look  ye,  young  master — I'm  not  angry,  and  not  going  to 
be  angry  but  my  name,  as  I  told  you  before,  is  not 
Hercules — " 

"  Xot  Hercules, — indeed  ! — then  it  must  be  Ajax — Ajax  or 
Agamemnon.  Well,  you  have  your  choice,  for  you  look  any  of 
these  great  men  so  well,  that  by  one  or  other  of  their  names, 
I  must  call  you.  I  could  not  well  understand  you  by  any 
other." 

It  seemed  the  policy  of  Harrison,  so  he  appeared  to  think,  to 
provoke  the  person  he  addressed  into  something  like  pre- 
cipitance, suspecting  him,  as  he  did.  of  a  secret  and  unfriendly 
object;  and  finding  him  a  choleric  and  rash  person,  he  aimed 
so  to  arouse  his  passion,  as  to  disarm  his  caution  and  defeat 
his  judgment;  but,  though  Chorley  exhibited  indignation 
enough,  yet,  having  his  own  object,  and  wishing  at  that 
moment  to  appear  as  amiable  as  possible,  in  the  presence  of 
those  who  knew  him  as  a  different  character  in  childhood,  he 
moderated  his  manner,  if  not  his  speech,  to  his  situation  and 
his  desires.  Still,  his  reply  was  fierce  enonsrh.  and  much  of  it 
muttered  in  an  undertone,  was  heard  only  by  the  pastor  and 
the  person  he  addressed. 

"  Hark  ye.  sir.  I  don't  know  what  ye  may  be.  and  don't 
much  care;  but  blast  my  liver,  if  yon  don't  mind  your  eyes, 
I'll  take  your  ears  off.  and  slit  vour  tongue,  or  I'm  no  man, 
I  won't  suffer  any  man  to  speak  to  me  in  this  manner." 

"You  won't — and  you'll  take  my  ear?  off  and  slit  my 
tongue.  Why,  Hercules,  you're  decidedly  dangerous.  But  I 
shall  not  tax  your  services  so  far." 

"  Shall  do  it,  though,  by  thunder,  whether  you  like  it  or  not. 
You  are  not  two  to  one  now.  voun^ster.  and  shan't  swing 
to-day  at  my  cost,  as  you  did  yesterday." 

"  Pshaw — don't  put  on  your  clouds  and  thunder  now,  old 


128  THE  YEMASSEE. 

Jupiter* — you  look,  for  all  the  world,  at  this  moment,  like  a 
pirate  of  the  gulf,  and  must  certainly  frighten  the  ladies 
should  they  happen  to  look  on  you." 

All  these  speeches  were  made  sotto  voce,  in  an  aside  which 
the  ladies  could  not  hear;  though  it  was  evident,  from  the 
manner  of  both,  that  they  were  uneasy.  The  pastor  fidgeted. 
He  was  very  much  disturbed.  When  the  last  sentence  of  Har- 
rison fell  upon  Chorley's  ears,  he  started  visibly,  and  the 
fierceness  of  his  look  was  mingled  with  one  of  decided  disquiet, 
while  the  close,  dark,  penetrating  eye  of  Harrison  was  fixed 
sternly  upon  his  own.  Before  he  could  recover  in  time  for  a 
reply  in  the  same  manner,  Harrison  went  on,  resuming  all  his 
playfulness  of  speech  and  look. 

"  Don't  mean  to  offend,  Hercules,  far  from  it.  But  really, 
when  I  spoke,  your  face  did  wear  a  most  flibustier  sort  of 
expression,  such  as  Black  Beardf  himself  might  put  on  while 
sacking  a  merchantman,  and  sending  her  crew  along  the 
plank." 

u  My  name,  young  man,  as  I  told  you  before,"  began  the 
sailor,  with  a  look  and  tone  of  forbearance  and  meekness  that 
greatly  awakened  the  sympathies  of  the  pastor,  to  whom  the 
playful  persecution  of  Harrison  had  been  any  thing  but  grate- 
ful— "  my  name  is — " 

But  his  tormentor  interrupted  him — 

"  Is  Jupiter  Amnion,  I  know — give  yourself  no  manner  of 
trouble,  I  beg  you." 

"Master  Harrison,"  said  the  pastor,  gravely,  "  this  is  my 
guest,  and  so  are  you,  and  as  such,  permit  me  to  say  that 
mutual  respect  is  due  to  my  house  and  presence,  if  not  to  one 
another.  The  name  of  this  gentleman  is  Chorley,  Master 
Richard  Chorley,  whose  parents  I  knew  in  England  as  well  as 
himself." 

"  Ha !  Chorley — you  knew  him  in  England — Master 
Chorley,  your  servant, — Hercules  no  longer.  You  will  be 
pleased  to  forgive  my  merriment,  which  is  scarce  worth  your 
cloud  and  thunder-storm.     Chorley,  did  you  say — Chorley — 

*  Jupiter  Amnion,  an  Egyptian  god  corresponding  to  the  Greek 
Zeus,  the  wielder  of  the  thunderbolt. 

f  Edward  Thatch,  alias  Black  Beard,  was  one  of  the  most 
famous  and  most  dreaded  pirates  of  the  early  eighteenth  century. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  129 

a  good  name — the  name  of  a  trader  upon  the  Spanish  Islands. 
Said  I  right  ?  "  inquired  the  speaker,  who  appeared  to  muse 
somewhatabstractedly  over  his  recent  accession  of  intelligence, 
while  addressing  the  seaman.     The  latter  sulkily  assented. 

"  Your  craft  lies  in  the  river,  and  you  come  for  trade. 
You  have  goods,  Master  Chorley — fine  stuffs  for  a  lady's 
wear,  and  jewels— have  you  not  jewels  such  as  would  not  do 
discredit  to  a  neck,  white  and  soft— a  glimpse,  such  as  we 
sometimes  have  through  these  blessed  skies,  of  a  pure,  glorious 
heaven  smiling  and  wooing  beyond  them  ?  Have  you  no  such 
befitting  gauds — no  highly  wrought  gem  and  ornament — in 
the  shape  of  cross  and  chain,  which  a  sharp  master  of  trade 
may  have  picked  up,  lying  at  watch  snugly  among  the  little 
Islands  of  the  gulf?" 

"  And  if  I  have  ?  "  sullenly  responded  the  seaman. 
"I  will  buy,  Hercules— Master  Chorley  I  should  say— I 
would  buy  such  a  jewel— a  rich  chain,  or  the  cross  which  the 
Spaniard  worships.  Wouldst  thou  wear  such  a  chain  of  my 
giving,  dear  Bess— Miss  Matthews,  I  mean?  Thy  neck  needs 
no  such  ornament,  I  know,  no  more  than  the  altar  needs  the 
jewel ;  yet  the  worshipper  finds  a  pleasure  when  he  can  place  it 
there.  Tell  me,  Miss  Matthews,  will  you  wear  such  gift  of  my 
giving  ?  " 

Harrison  was  a  person  of  the  strangest  frankness  of  man- 
ner. The  soliciting  sweetness  of  his  glance,  as  this  was  spoken, 
seemed  to  relieve  it  of  some  of  its  audacity.  He  looked 
tenderly  to  her  eyes  as  he  spoke,  and  the  seaman,  watching 
their  mutual  glance,  with  a  curiosity  which  became  malignant, 
soon  discovered  their  secret,  if  so  it  may  be  called.  Before 
his  daughter  could  speak,  the  old  pastor  sternly  answered  for 
her  in  the  negative.  His  feelings  had  grown  more  and  more 
uncompromising  and  resentful  at  every  word  of  the  previous 
dialogue.  In  his  eyes,  the  cool  composure  of  Harrison  wasthe 
superb  of  audacity1,  particularly  as,  in  the  previous  interview, 
he  thought  he  had  said  and  clone  enough  to  discourage  the  pre- 
tensions of  any  suitor,  and  one  so  utterly  unknown  to  him  as 
the  present.  Not  that  there  was  not  much  in  all  that  he  knew, 
of  the  person  in  question,  to  confound  and  distract  his  judg- 
ment. In  their  intercourse,  and  in  all  known  intercourse,  he 
had  always  proved  brave,  sensible,  and  generous.     He  had 


130  THE  YEMASSEE. 

taken  the  lead  among  the  volunteers,  a  short  time  previous,  in 
defeating  a  superior  Spanish  force  and  driving  them  in  dis- 
grace from  a  meditated  attack  on  Port  Eoyal  Island  and  Edisto. 
Eor  this  service  he  had  received  from  the  men  he  had  then 
commanded,  an  application  for  the  permanent  continuance 
of  his  authority — an  application  neither  declined  nor  accepted. 
They  knew  him,  however,  only  as  Gabriel  Harrison,  a  man 
singularly  compounded  of  daring  bravery,  cool  reflection,  and 
good-humoured  vivacity,  and  knowing  this,  they  cared  for 
little  more  information.  The  farther  mystery — knowing  so 
much — was  criminal  in  the  eyes  of  the  pastor,  who  had  better 
reasons  than  the  volunteers  for  desiring  a  greater  share  of 
the  stranger's  confidence;  and  though  really,  when  he  could 
calmly  reflect  on  the  subject,  uninfluenced  by  his  prejudices 
of  Puritanism,  pleased  with  the  individual,  a  sense  of  what  he 
considered  his  duty  compelled  him  to  frown  upon  pretensions 
so  perfectly  vague  yet  so  confidently  urged  as  those  of  his 
visitor.  The  course  of  the  dialogue  just  narrated  contributed 
still  more  to  disapprove  Harrison  in  the  old  man's  estimation. 

"  My  daughter  wears  no  such  idle  vanities,  Master  Harrison," 
said  he,  "  and  least  of  all  should  she  be  expected  to  receive 
them  from  hands  of  which  we  know  nothing." 

"  Oh,  ho !  "  exclaimed  Chorley  aloud,  now  in  his  turn  enjoy- 
ing himself  at  the  expense  of  his  adversary — "  Oh,  ho — sits 
the  wind  in  that  quarter  of  your  sail,  young  master  ?  " 

"  Well,  Hercules,  what  do  you  laugh  at  ?  I  will  buy  your 
chain,  though  the  lady  may  or  may  not  take  it." 

"  You  buy  no  chain  of  me,  I  think,"  replied  the  other — 
66  unless  you  buy  this,  which  I  would  have  placed  myself,  as  a 
free  gift,  upon  the  neck  of  the  young  lady,  before  you  came." 

"  You  place  it  upon  Bessy's  neck,  indeed !  Why  Bully-boy, 
what  put  that  extravagant  notion  into  your  head?  "  exclaimed 
Harrison  scornfully,  aloud. 

"  And  why  not,  master ;  why  not,  I  pray  you  ?  "  inquired 
the  seaman,  at  the  same  time  not  seeking  to  suppress  his 
pique. 

"  Why  not — indeed !  But  it  needs  not  to  say  it !  will  you 
sell  your  chain  ?  " 

"  Ay,  that  will  I,  but  at  a  price  something  beyond  your 
mark.    What  will  you  give  now  ?  " 


THE  YEMASSEE.  131 

"  Put  like  a  trader — Granger  himself  could  not  have  said 

it  with  more  grace.    I  will  give "  at  that  moment  a  distinct 

blast  of  the  horn,  reverberating  through  the  hall,  announced 
to  Harrison  the  success  and  approach  of  his  party.  Fixing  his 
eye  upon  the  person  he  addressed,  and  turning  full  upon  him, 

he  replied — 

"  I  have  the  price  at  hand — a  fitting  price,  and  one  that  you 
seem  already  to  have  counted  on.  What  say  you  then  to  my 
black  fellow,  Hector?  He  is  a  fine  servant,  and  as  you  have 
already  stowed  him  away  safely  in  your  hold,  I  suppose  you 
will  not  hesitate  to  ask  for  him  three  hundred  pieces  in  the 
Cuba  market— something  more,  1  fancy,  than  the  value  of  your 
chain/' 

The  seaman  was  confounded — taken  all  aback — as  well  as 
the  pastor  and  his  family,  at  this  unlooked  for  charge. 

"Where,  Master  Harrison,  did  you  say?"  inquired  Mat- 
thews.    "Where?  your  fellow  Hector?" 

"■  Ay,  Hector,  you  know  him  well  enough  ?  why  stowed  away 
in  the  hold  of  this  worthy  fur  and  amber  trader's  vessel- 
safe,  locked  up,  and  ready  for  the  Spaniard." 

"  jt's  a  d d  lie,"  exclaimed  the  ferocious  seaman,  recov- 
ering from  Ins  momentary  stupor. 

"  Bah,  Hercules — see  you  fool  written  in  my  face,  that  you 
suppose  oaths  go  further  with  me  than  words?  You  are 
young,  my  Hercules,  very  young,  to  think  so," — then,  as  the 
accused  person  proceeded  to  swear  and  swagger,  Harrison 
turned  to  the  ladies,  who  had  been  silent  and  astonished 
auditors—"  Mrs.  Matthews,  and  you,  Bess,  take  to  your  cham- 
bers, please  you,  for  a  while.  This  business  may  be  unpleasant, 
and  not  suited  to  your  presence." 

"But,  Captain  Harrison,  my  son,"  said  the  old  lady, 
affectionately. 

"  Gabriel,  dear  Gabriel,"  murmured  the  young  one. 

"Xo  violence,  gentlemen, — for  heaven's  sake,  gentlemen," 

said  the  host. 

Harrison  kissed  his  hands  playfully  to  the  mother  and 
daughter,  as,  leading  them  to  an  inner  door,  he  begged  them  to 
have  no  apprehension. 

"  There  is  no  cause  of  fear— be  not  alarmed.    Hercules  and 


132  THE  YEMASSEE. 

myself  would  only  determine  the  value  of  Hector,  without 
unnecessary  witnesses.    Go  now,  and  fear  nothing." 

Having  dismissed  the  ladies,  Harrison  turned  immediately 
to  Chorley,  and  putting  his  hand  with  the  utmost  deliberation 
upon  his  shoulder,  thus  addressed  him — 

"  Hark  ye,  Hercules,  you  can't  have  Hector  for  nothing. 
The  fellow's  in  prime  order — not  old,  and  still  active — besides 
he's  the  most  trustworthy  slave  I  own,  and  loves  me  like  a 
brother.  It  goes  against  me  to  part  with  him,  but  if  you 
are  determined  to  have  him,  you  must  give  me  an  equivalent." 

The  seaman,  with  many  oaths,  denied  having  him.  We 
forbear  the  brutal  language  which  he  used  in  his  asseveration. 
But  Harrison  was  cool  and  positive. 

"  Spare  your  breath,  my  brave  fellow,"  said  he  contemptu- 
ously as  coolly,  "  I  know  you  have  him.  Your  swearing  makes 
none  of  your  lies  true,  and  you  waste  them  on  me.  Give  up 
Hector,  then " 

"  And  what  if  I  say  no  ?  "  fiercely  replied  the  seaman. 

"  Then  I  keep  Hercules !  "  was  the  response  of  Harrison. 

"  We  shall  see  that,"  exclaimed  the  kidnapper — and  drawing 
his  cutlass,  he  approached  the  door  of  the  cottage,  in  the  way 
of  which  Harrison  stood  calmly.  As  he  approached,  the  latter 
drew  forth  a  pistol  from  his  bosom,  coolly  cocked  and  pre- 
sented it  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other,  raising  his 
horn  to  his  lips,  he  replied  to  the  previous  signal.  In  another 
moment  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  Granger,  with  two  of 
the  foresters,  promptly  appeared,  well  armed,  and,  by  their 
presence,  destroying  any  thought  of  an  equal  struggle,  which 
might  originally  have  entered  the  mind  of  Chorley.  The  three 
new  comers  ranged  themselves  around  the  apartment,  so  as  to 
encircle  the  seaman. 

"  Captain  Harrison,"  interposed  the  pastor,  "  this  violence 
in  my  house " 

"  I  deeply  regret,  Mr.  Matthews,"  was  the  reply,  "  but  it  is 
here  necessary." 

"  It  is  taking  the  laws  into  your  own  hands,  sir." 
"I  know  it,  sir,  and  will  answer  to  the  laws  for  taking 
Hector  from  the  unlawful  hands  of  this  kidnapper.      Stand 
aside,  sir,  if  you  please,  while  we  secure  our  prisoner.    Well, 
Hercules,  are  you  ready  for  terms  now  ?  " 


THE  YEMASSEE.    .  133 

Nothing  daunted,  Chorley  roared  out  a  defiance,  and  with 
a  fierce  oath,  lifting  his  cutlass,  he  resolutely  endeavoured  to 
advance.  But  the  extension  of  his  arm  for  the  employment 
of  his  weapon,  with  his  enemies  so  near,  was  of  itself  a  dis- 
advantage. The  sword  had  scarcely  obtained  a  partial  eleva- 
tion, when  the  iron  fingers  of  Dick  Grimstead  fixed  the  up- 
lifted arm  as  firmly  as  if  the  vice  of  the  worthy  blacksmith 
had  taken  the  grasp  instead  of  his  muscles.  In  another 
moment  Chorley  was  tumbled  upon  his  back,  and,  spite  of 
every  effort  at  release,  the  huge  frame  of  Grimstead  main- 
tained him  in  that  humiliating  position. 

"  You  see,  Hercules,  obstinacy  won't  serve  you  here.  I  must 
have  Hector,  or  I  shall  see  the  colour  of  every  drop  of  blood 
in  your  body.  I  swear  it,  of  God's  surety.  Listen,  then, 
here  are  materials  for  writing.  You  are  a  commander— you 
shall  forward  despatches  to  your  men  for  the  delivery  of  my 
snow-ball.     Hector  I  must  have." 

"I  will  write  nothing — my  men  are  in  the  boat;  they  will 
soon  be  upon  you,  and,  by  all  the  devils,  I  will  mark  you  for 
this." 

"  Give  up  your  hope,  Bully-boy,  and  be  less  obdurate.  I 
have  taken  care  to  secure  your  men  and  boat,  as  fast  and 
comfortably  as  yourself.  You  shall  see  that  I  speak  truth." 
Winding  his  horn  as  he  spoke,  the  rest  of  the  foresters 
appeared  under  the  conduct  of  Xichols,  who,  strange  to  say, 
was  now  the  most  active  conspirator,  seemingly,  of  the  party ; 
they  brought  with  them  the  two  seamen  well  secured  by  cords. 
Ushering  his  prisoners  forward,  the  worthy  Constantine,  see- 
ing Harrison  about  to  speak,  hastily  interrupted  him — 

"  The  great  object  of  action,  captain — the  great  object  of 
human  action — Mr.  Matthews,  I  am  your  servant — the  great 
object,  Captain  Harrison,  of  human  action,  as  I  have  said 
before,  is,  or  should  be,  the  pursuit  of  human  happiness.  The 
great  aim  of  human  study  is  properly  to  determine  upon  the 
true  nature  of  human  action.  Human  reason  being  the  only 
mode,  in  the  exercise  of  which  we  can  possibly  arrive  at  the 
various  courses  which  human  action  is  to  take,  it  follows,  in 
direct  sequence,  that  the  Supreme  Arbiter,  in  matters  of 
moral,  or  I  should  rather  say  human  propriety,  is  the  universal 
reason — " 


134  •    THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  Quod  erat  demonstrandum/7  gravely  interrupted  Harri- 
son. 

"  Your  approval  is  grateful,  Captain  Harrison — very  grate- 
ful, sir — but  I  beg  that  you  will  not  interrupt  me." 

Harrison  bowed,  and  the  doctor  proceeded : — 

"  Eef erring  to  just  principles,  and  the  true  standard,  which, 
— Master  Matthews,  this  may  be  of  moment  to  you,  and  I  beg 
your  particular  attention — I  hold  to  be  human  reason, — for 
the  government,  the  well-being  of  human  society,  I  have  deter- 
mined— being  thereto  induced  simply  by  a  consideration  of 
the  good  of  the  people — to  lead  them  forth,  for  the  captivity 
of  these  evil-minded  men,  who,  without  the  fear  of  God  in 
their  eyes,  and  instigated  by  the  devil,  have  feloniously  kid- 
napped and  entrapped  and  are  about  to  carry  away  one  of 
the  lawful  subjects  of  our  king,  whom  God  preserve. — I  say 
subject,  for  though  it  does  not  appear  that  the  black  has 
ever  been  employed  as  a  colour  distinguishing  the  subjects  of 
our  master,  the  King  of  Great  Britain,  yet,  as  subject  to  his 
will,  and  the  control  of  his  subjects,  are  more  than  all,  as 
speaking  in  the  proper  form  of  the  English  language,  a  little 
interpolated  here  and  there,  it  may  be,  with  a  foreign  coating 
or  accent — which  it  may  be  well  to  recognise  as  legitimately 
forming  a  feature  of  the  said  language,  which  by  all  writers 
is  held  to  be  of  a  compound  substance,  not  unlike,  morally 
speaking,  the  sort  of  rock,  which  the  geologists  designate  as 
pudding-stone — pudding  being  a  preparation  oddly  and  heav- 
ily compounded — and  to  speak  professionally,  indigestibly 
compounded — I  say,  then,  and  I  call  you,  our  pastor,  and  you, 
Captain  Harrison,  and  you,  Richard  Grimstead — albeit  you 
are  not  of  a  craft  or  profession  which  I  may  venture  to  style 
liberal — you  too  may  be  a  witness, — and  you  will  all  of  you 
here  assembled  take  upon  you  to  witness  for  me,  that,  in  lead- 
ing forth  these  brave  men  to  the  assault  upon  and  captivity 
of  these  nefarious  kidnappers,  rescue  or  no  rescue,  at  this 
moment  my  prisoners,  that,  from  the  first  immutable  prin- 
ciples which  I  have  laid  down,  I  could  have  been  governed 
only  by  a  patriotic  desire  for  the  good  of  the  people.  For,  as 
it  is  plain  that  the  man  who  kidnaps  a  subject  has  clearly 
none  of  those  moral  restraints  which  should  keep  him  from 
kidnapping  subjects,  and  as  it  is  equally  clear  that  subjects 


THE  YEMASSEE.  135 

should  not  be  liable  to  kidnapping,  so  does  it  follow,  as  a 
direct  sequence,  that  the  duty  of  the  good  citizen  is  to  prevent 
such  nefarious  practices.  I  fear  not  now  the  investigation  of 
the  people,  for,  having  been  governed  in  what  I  have  done, 
simply  by  a  regard  for  their  good  and  safety,  I  yield  me  to 
their  judgment,  satisfied  of  justice,  yet  not  shrinking,  in  their 
cause,  from  the  martyrdom  which  they  sometimes  inflict." 

The  speaker  paused,  breathless,  and  looked  round  very  com- 
placently upon  the  assembly — the  persons  of  which  his  speech 
had  variously  affected.  Some  laughed,  knowing  the  man ;  but 
one  or  two  looked  profound,  and  of  these,  at  a  future  day,  he 
had  secured  the  suffrages.  Harrison  suffered  nothing  of  risi- 
bility to  appear  upon  his  features,  composing  the  muscles  of 
which,  lie  turned  to  the  patriot, — 

"  Gravely  and  conclusively  argued,  doctor,  and  with  pro- 
priety, for  the  responsibility  was  a  weighty  one.  of  this  bold 
measure,  which  your  regard  for  popular  freedom  has  per- 
suaded you  to  adopt.  I  did  not  myself  think  that  so  much 
could  be  said  in  favour  of  the  proceeding;  the  benefits  of 
which  we  shall  now  proceed  to  reap.  And  now,  Hercules," 
he  continued,  addressing  the  still  prostrate  seaman,  "  you  see 
the  case  is  hopeless,  and  there  is  but  one  way  of  effecting  your 
liberty.  Write — here  are  the  materials;  command  that  Hector 
be  restored,  without  stroke  or  stripe,  for  of  God's  surety, 
every  touch  of  the  whip  upon  the  back  of  my  slave  shall  call 
for  a  corresponding  dozen  upon  your  own.  Your  seamen 
shall  bear  the  despatch,  and  they  shall  return  with  the  negro. 
I  shall  place  a  watch,  and  if  more  than  these  leave  the  vessel, 
it  will  be  a  signal  which  shall  sound  your  death-warrant,  for 
that  moment,  of  God's  surety,  shall  you  hang.  Let  him  rise, 
Grimstead,  but  keep  his  sword,  and  tomahawk  him  if  he  stir." 

Chorley  saw  that  he  was  in  a  strait,  and  in  hands  no  ways 
scrupulous.  Satisfied  that  the  case  was  hopeless  on  other 
terms,  he  wrote  as  he  was  required.  Sullenly  affixing  the 
signature,  he  handed  it  fiercely  to  Harrison,  who  coolly  read 
over  its  contents. 

"  So  your  name  is  really  not  Hercules,  after  all,"  he  spoke 
with'  his  usual  careless  manner — "  but  Chorley  ?  " 

"  Is  it  enough  ?  "  sullenly  asked  the  seaman. 

"Ay,  Bully-boy,  if  your  men  obey  it.     I  shall  only  take  the 


136  THE  YEMASSEE. 

liberty  of  putting  a  small  addition  to  the  paper,  apprising 
them  of  the  prospect  in  reserve  for  yourself,  if  they  steer 
awkwardly.  A  little  hint  to  them,"  speaking  as  he  wrote,  "  of 
new  arms  for  their  captain — swinging  bough,  rope  pendant, — 
and  so  forth." 

In  an  hour  and  the  men  returned,  bringing  along  with  them 
the  subject  of  contention,  the  now  half  frantic  Hector.  Chor- 
ley  was  instantly  released,  with  his  two  companions.  He 
hurried  away  with  scarce  a  word  to  the  pastor.  Swearing 
vengeance  as  he  went,  for  the  indignity  he  had  undergone, 
and  the  disappointment,  he  prepared  to  leave  the  dwelling  in 
the  humour  to  do  mischief.  But  unarmed  as  he  was,  and 
awed  by  the  superior  numbers  of  Harrison,  he  was  compelled, 
perforce,  to  keep  his  wrath  in  reserve ;  resolving  upon  a  double 
reckoning  for  the  delay,  whenever  the  opportunity  should 
offer  for  revenge.  Harrison  goaded  him  with  words  of  new 
annoyance  as  he  went — 

"  Keep  cool,  Hercules ;  this  attempt  to  kidnap  our  slaves 
will  tell  hardly  against  you  when  going  round  Port  Royal 
Island.  The  battery  there  may  make  your  passage  uncom- 
fortable." 

"  You  shall  suffer  for  this,  young  one,  or  my  name's  not 


u  Hercules  !  well,  well — see  that  you  keep  a  close  reckoning, 
for  I  am  not  so  sure  that  Eichard  Chorley  is  not  as  great  a 
sea-shark  as  Steed  Bonnett  himself." 

The  seaman  started  fiercely,  as  the  speaker  thus  compared 
him  with  one  of  the  most  notorious  pirates  of  the  time  and 
region,  but  a  sense  of  caution  restrained  from  any  more  de- 
cided expression  of  his  anger.  With  a  single  word  to  the 
pastor,  and  a  sullen  repetition  of  a  general  threat  to  the  rest, 
he  was  soon  in  his  boat  and  upon  the  way  to  his  vessel. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  137 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"I  say  it  again,  Captain  Harrison — fortunate  is  it  for 
mankind,  fortunate  and  thrice  happy— Mr.  Matthews,  yon 
will  be  pleased  to  respond  to  the  sentiment — thrice  fortunate, 
I  say,  is  it  for  mankind— Richard  Grimstead,  this  idea  is  one 
highly  important  to  your  class,  and  you  will  give  it  every 
attention — thrice  fortunate  for  mankind  that  there  are  some 
spirits  in  the  world,  some  noble  spirits,  whom  no  fear,,  no 
danger,  not  even  the  dread  of  death,  can  discourage  or  deter 
in  their  labours  for  the  good  of  the  people.  Who  nobly  array 
themselves  against  injustice,  who  lift  up  the  banners  of  truth, 
and,  filled  to  overflowing  with  the  love  of  their  kindred,  who 
yield  up  nothing  of  man's  right  to  exaction  and  tyranny,  but, 
shouting  their  defiance  to  the  last,  fear  not  to  embrace  the 
stake  of  martyrdom  in  the  perpetuation  of  an  immortal  prin- 
ciple.   Yes,  captain — M 

The  audience  began  to  scatter. 

"What,— will  you  not  hear?— Mr.  Matthews,  venerable  sir, 
— Master  Grayson,  Master  Walter  Grayson,  1  say — and  you, 
Richard  Grimstead— will  nobody  hear  ?— thus  it  is.— the  blind 
and  insensible  mass! — they  take  the  safety  and  the  service, 
but  forget  the  benefactor.  It  is  enough  to  make  the  patriot 
renounce  his  nature,  and  leave  them  to  their  fate." 

"You  had  better  go  now,  doctor,  and  see  poor  Murray, 
instead  of  standing  here  making  speeches  about  nothing.  Talk 
of  the  good  of  the  people,  indeed,  and  leave  the  sick  man 
without  physic  till  this  time  of  day."' 

"You  are  right  in  that,  Master  Grayson,  though  scarcely 
respectful.  It  concerns  the  popular  welfare,  certainly,  that 
men  should  not  fall  victims  to  disease;  but  you  must  under- 
stand, Master  Grayson,  that  even  to  this  broad  and  general 
principle,  there  are  some  obvious  exceptions.  One  may  and 
must,  now  and  then,  be  sacrificed  for  the  good  of  many — 
though  to  confess  a  truth,  this  can  scarcely  be  an  admitted 
principle,  if  such  a  sacrifice  may  tend  in  any  way  to  affect 


138  THE  YEMASSEE. 

the  paramount  question  of  the  soul's  immortal  happiness  or 
pain.  I  have  strong  doubts  whether  a  man  should  be  hung 
at  all.  For,  if  it  happen  that  he  be  a  bad  man,  to  hang  him 
is  to  precipitate  him  into  that  awful  abiding  place,  to  which 
each  successive  generation  may  be  supposed  to  have  con- 
tributed in  liberal  proportion;  and  if  he  should  have  seen 
the  error  of  his  ways,  and  repented,  he  ceases  to  be  a  bad 
man,  and  should  not  be  hung  at  all.  But,  poor  Murray,  as 
you  remind  me,  ought  to  be  physicked — these  cursed  fevers 
hang  on  a  man,  as  that  sooty-lipped  fellow  Grimstead  says,  in 
a  speech,  uncouth  as  himself,  like  'death  to  a  dead  negro/ 
The  only  God  to  be  worshipped  in  this  region,  take  my  word 
for  it,  Master  Grayson,  is  that  heathen  God,  Mercury.  He  is 
the  true  friend  of  the  people,  and  as  such  I  worship  him. 
Captain  Harrison — the  man  is  deaf.  Ah,  Mr.  Matthews — 
deaf,  too !  Farewell,  Master  Grayson,  or  do  you  ride  towards 
Gibbon's  ?  He  turns  a  deaf  ear  also.  Human  nature — human 
nature !    I  do  hate  to  ride  by  myself." 

And  with  these  words,  in  obvious  dissatisfaction — for  Doc- 
tor Constantine  Maximilian  Nichols  was  no  longer  listened 
to — he  left  the  house  and  moved  off  to  the  wood  where  his 
little  tacky  stood  in  waiting.  By  this  time  the  foresters  gen- 
erally had  also  left  the  old  pastor's  cottage.  Giving  them 
instructions  to  meet  him  at  the  Block  House,  Harrison  alone 
lingered  behind  with  the  old  Puritan,  to  whom  the  preceding 
events  had  somehow  or  other  been  productive  of  much  sore 
disquietude.  He  had  shown  his  disapprobation  at  various 
stages  of  their  occurrence;  and  even  now,  when  the  restora- 
tion of  Hector,  more  than  ever,  showed  the  propriety,  or 
policy  at  least,  of  the  course  which  had  been  pursued,  the  old 
man  seemed  still  to  maintain  a  decided  hostility  to  the  steps 
which  Harrison  had  taken  for  the  recovery  of  his  property. 
Having  once  determined  against  the  individual  himself,  the 
pastor  was  one  of  those  dogged  and  self-satisfied  persons  who 
can  never  bring  themselves  to  the  dismissal  of  a  prejudice; 
who  never  permit  themselves  to  approve  of  any  thing  done 
by  the  obnoxious  person,  and  who  studiously  seek,  in  regard 
to  him,  every  possible  occasion  for  discontent  and  censure.  In 
such  a  mood  he  addressed  Harrison  when  the  rest  had  de- 
parted : 


THE  YEMASSEE.  139 

"  This  violence,  Master  Harrison/'  said  he,  "might  do  in 
a  condition  of  war  and  civil  commotion ;  but  while  there  are 
laws  for  the  protection  of  the  people  and  for  the  punishment 
of  the  aggressor,  the  resort  to  measures  like  that  which  I  have 
this  day  witnessed,  I  hold  to  be  highly  indecorous  and 
criminal/' 

"  Mr.  Matthews,  you  talk  of  laws,  as  if  that  pirate  fellow 
could  be  brought  to  justice  by  a  sheriff/' 

"  And  why  should  he  not,  Master  Harrison  ?  " 

"  My  good  sir,  for  the  very  best  reason  in  the  world,  if  you 
will  but  open  your  eyes,  and  take  off  some  few  of  the  scales 
which  you  seem  to  prefer  to  wear.  Because,  in  that  vessel, 
carrying  guns,  and  men  enough  to  serve  them,  he  could  safely 
bid  defiance  to  all  the  sheriffs  you  could  muster.  Let  the 
wind  but  serve,  and  he  could  be  off,  carrying  you  along  with 
him  if  he  thought  proper,  and  at  this  moment  nothing  we 
could  do  could  stop  him.  There  is  no  defending  Port  Royal, 
and  that  is  its  misfortune.  You  must  always  call  the  force 
from  Charleston  which  could  do  so,  and  at  this  time  there  is 
not  a  single  armed  vessel  in  that  port.  Xo,  sir— nothing  but 
manoeuvring  now  for  that  fellow,  and  we  must  manage  ^  still 
more  adroitly  before  we  get  our  own  terms  out  of  him/' 

"  Why,  sir— where's  the  battery  at  Port  Royal  ?  " 

"  Pshaw,  Mr.  Matthews— a  mere  tiy  in  the  face  of  the  wind. 
The  battery  at  Port  Royal,  indeed,  which  the  Spaniards  have 
twice  already  taken  at  noonday,  and  which  they  would  have 
tumbled  into  ruins,  but  for  Captain  Godfrey  and  myself,  as 
you  should  remember — for  your  own  chance  of  escape,  and 
that  of  your  family,  was  narrow  enough.  A  good  wind,  sir, 
would  carry  this  Flibustier  beyond  the  fort  before  three  guns 
could  be  brought  to  bear  upon  her." 

"  Well,  Master  Harrison,  even  if  this  be  the  case,  I  should 
rather  the  guilty  should  escape  than  that  self -constituted 
judges  should  take  into  their  own  hands  the  administration  of 
justice  and  the  law/' 

u  Indeed,  Reverend  Sir,  but  you  are  too  merciful  by  half ; 
and  Hector,  if  he  heard  you  now,  would  have  few  thanks  for 
a  charity,  which  would  pack  him  off  to  the  Cuba  plantations 
for  the  benefit  of  that  scoundrelly  pirate.     No,  no.     I  shall 


140  THE  YEMASSEB. 

always  hold  and  recover  my  property  by  the  strong  arm, 
when  other  means  are  wanting." 

"  And  pray,  sir,  what  security  have  the  people,  that  you, 
unknown  to  them  as  you  are,  may  not  employ  the  same  arm 
to  do  them  injustice,  while  proposing  justice  for  yourself?" 
"  That  is  what  Nichols  would  call  the  popular  argument, 
and  for  which  he  would  give  you  thanks,  while  using  it  against 
you.  But,  in  truth,  this  is  the  coil,  and  amounts  to  neither 
more  nor  less  than  this,  that  all  power  is  subject  to  abuse. 
I  do  not  contend  for  the  regular  practice  of  that  which  I  only 
employ  in  a  last  necessity.  But,  of  this  enough.  I  am  in  no 
mood  for  hair  splitting  and  arguing  about  trifling  irregu- 
larities, when  the  chance  is  that  there  are  far  more  serious 
difficulties  before  us.  There  is  a  subject,  Mr.  Matthews,  much 
more  important  to  yourself.  You  are  here,  residing  on  the 
borders  of  a  savage  nation,  with  an  interest  scarcely  worth 
your  consideration,  and  certainly  no  engrossing  object.  Your 
purpose  is  the  good  of  those  around  you,  and  with  that  object 
you  surfer  privations  here,  to  which  your  family  are  not  much 
accustomed.     I  have  an  interest  in  your  welfare,  and — " 

The  lips  of  the  pastor  curled  contemptuously  into  a  smile. 
Harrison  proceeded: 

"  I  understand  that  expression,  sir,  upon  your  face ;  and, 
contenting  myself  with  referring  you  for  a  commentary  upon 
it  to  the  sacred  profession  of  your  pursuit,  I  freely  forgive  it." 
The  pastor's  cheek  grew  red,  while  the  other  continued : — 

"  You  are  here,  sir,  as  I  have  said,  upon  the  Indian  borders^ 
There  is  little  real  affinity  between  you.  The  entire  white 
population  thus  situated,  and  stretching  for  thirty  miles 
towards  the  coast  in  this  direction,  does  not  exceed  nine  hun- 
dred, men,  women,  and  children.  You  live  remotely  from 
each  other — there  is  but  little  concert  between  you,  and,  bating 
an  occasional  musket,  or  sword,  the  hatchet  and  the  knife 
are  the  only  weapons  which  your  houses  generally  furnish. 
The  Indians  are  fretful  and  becoming  insolent " — 

''  Let  me  interrupt  you,  Master  Harrison.    I  have  no  fears  I 

This  danger  of  Indian  war  is  always  the  cry  among  those  who 

have  popular  objects.     So  far  as  my  experience  goes,  the 

Yemasses  were  never  more  peaceable  than  at  this  moment." 

"Pardon  me,  sir,  if  I  say  you  know  little  of  the  Indians, 


THE  YEMASSEE  141 

and  are  quite  too  guileless  yourself  to  comprehend  the  least 
portion  of  their  deceitful  character.  Are  you  aware,  sir,  of 
the  insurrection  which  took  place  in  Pocota-ligo  last  night  ?  " 

"  Insurrection  at  Pocota-ligo  ? — what  insurrection  ?  " 

"  The  chiefs  were  deposed  by  the  people,  and  by  this  time 
are  probably  destroyed,  for  selling  their  lands  yesterday  to 
the  commissioners." 

"  Ah !  I  could  have  said  the  why  and  the  wherefore,  with- 
out your  speech.  This  but  proves,  Captain  Harrison,  that 
we  may,  if  we  please,  provoke  them  by  our  persecutions  into 
insurrections.  Why  do  we  thus  seek  to  rob  them  of  their 
lands  ?  When,  0  Father  of  mercies,  when  shall  there  be  but 
one  flock  of  all  classes  and  colours,  all  tribes  and  nations,  of 
thy  people,  and  thy  blessed  Son,  our  Saviour,  the  good  and 
guiding  shepherd  thereof  ?  " 

"  The  prayer  is  a  just  one,  and  the  blessing  desirable ;  but, 
while  I  concur  with  your  sentiment,  I  am  not  willing  to  agree 
with  you  that  our  desire  to  procure  their  land  is  at  all  incon- 
sistent with  the  prayer.  Until  they  shall  adopt  our  pursuits, 
or  we  theirs,  we  can  never  form  the  one  community  for  which 
jour  prayer  is  sent  up ;  and  so  long  as  the  hunting  lands  are 
abundant,  the  seductions  of  that  mode  of  life  will  always 
baffle  the  approach  of  civilization  among  the  Indians.  But 
this  is  not  the  matter  between  us  now.  Your  smile  of  con- 
tempt, just  now,  when  I  spoke  of  my  regard  for  your  family, 
does  not  discourage  me  from  repeating  the  profession.  I 
esteem  your  family,  and  a  yet  stronger  sentiment  attaches  me 
to  one  of  its  members.  Feeling  thus  towards  you  and  it,  and 
convinced,  as  I  am,  that  there  is  danger  at  hand  from  the 
Indians,  I  entreat  that  you  will  remove  at  once  into  a  close 
neighbourhood  with  our  people.  Go  to  Port  Royal,  where 
the  means  of  escape  to  Charleston  are  easy; — or,  why  not  go 
to  Charleston  itself?" 

"  And  see  your  family,"  coolly  sneered  the  pastor. 

"  It  wrill  be  yours  before  long,  and  you  will  probably  then 
know  all  the  members  thereof.  I  trust  they  will  be  such  as 
neither  of  us  will  be  ashamed  of,"  was  the  quiet  reply.  "  But 
let  not  your  displeasure  at  my  pretensions,  or  my  lack  of 
family,  make  you  indifferent  to  the  safety  of  your  own.    I  tell 


142  THE  YEMASSEE. 

you,  sir,  there  is  a  near  and  great  danger  to  be  apprehended 
from  the  Indians." 

"  I  apprehend  none,  Captain  Harrison.  The  Indians  have 
always  borne  themselves  peaceably  towards  me  and  towards 
all  the  settlers — towards  all  who  have  carried  them  the  words 
of  peace.  To  me  they  have  always  shown  kindness  and  a 
respect  amounting  almost  to  reverence.  They  have  listened 
patiently  to  my  teachings,  and  the.  eyes  of  some  [of]  them, 
under  the  blessed  influence  of  the  Saviour,  have  been  opened 
to  the  light/' 

"  Be  not  deceived,  Mr.  Matthews.  The  Indian  upon  whom 
you  would  most  rely,  would  be  the  very  first  to  strip  your 
scalp  as  a  choice  trimming  for  his  moccasin.  Be  advised,  sir — 
I  know  more  of  this  people  than  yourself.  I  know  what  they 
are  when  excited  and  aroused;  deception  with  them  is  the 
legitimate  morality  of  a  true  warrior.  Nor  will  they,  when 
once  at  war,  discriminate  between  the  good  neighbour,  like 
yourself,  and  the  wild  borderer  who  encroaches  upon  their 
hunting  grounds  and  carries  off  their  spoil." 

"  I  fear  not,  sir — I  know  all  the  chiefs,  and  feel  just  as 
secure  here,  guarded  by  the  watchful  Providence,  as  I  possibly 
could  do  in  the  crowded  city,  fenced  in  by  mightiest  walls." 

"  This  confidence  is  rashness,  sir,  since  it  rejects  a  precau- 
tion which  can  do  no  harm,  and  offers  but  little  inconveni- 
ence. Where  is  the  necessity  for  your  remaining  here,  where 
there  is  so  little  to  attract,  and  so  few  ties  to  bind  ?  Leave  the 
spot,  sir,  at  least  until  the  storm  is  over-blown  which  I  now 
see  impending." 

"You  are  prophetic,  Master  Harrison,  but  as  I  see  no  storm 
impending,  you  will  suffer  me  to  remain.  You  seem  also  to 
forget  that,  in  remaining  in  this  region,  which  you  say  has 
few  ties  for  me  and  mine,  I  am  complying  with  a  solemn 
duty,  undertaken  in  cool  deliberation,  and  which  I  would  not, 
if  I  could,  avoid.  I  am  here,  as  you  know,  the  agent  of  a 
noble  Christian  charity  of  England,  as  a  missionary  to  the 
heathen." 

"  Be  it  so ;  but  there  is  nothing  inconsistent  with  your  duty 
in  leaving  the  spot  for  a  season.  Here,  in  the  event  of  a  war, 
you  could  pursue  no  such  mission.  Leave  it,  if  for  a  season 
only." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  143 

"Master  Harrison,  once  for  all,  permit  me  to  choose  for 
myself,  not  only  where  to  live,  but  who  shall  be  my  adviser 
and  companion.  I  owe  you  thanks  for  your  professed  interest 
in  me  and  mine ;  but  it  seems  to  me  there  is  but  little  deli- 
cacy in  thus  giving  us  your  presence,  when  my  thoughts  on 
the  subject  of  my  daughter  and  your  claim  have  been  so 
clearly  expressed.  The  violence  of  your  course  to-day,  sir, 
let  me  add,  is  enough  to  strengthen  my  previous  determina- 
tion on  that  subject." 

"  Your  determination,  Mr.  Matthews,  seems  fixed,  indeed, 
to  be  wrong-headed  and  obstinate.  You  have  dwelt  greatly 
upon  my  violence  to  this  sea-bear;  and  yet,  or  I  greatly  mis- 
take my  man,  you  will  come  to  wish  it  had  been  greater.  But, 
ask  your  own  good  sense  whether  that  violence  exceeded  in 
degree  the  amount  necessary  to  secure  the  restoration  of  my 
slave?  I  did  only  what  I  thought  essential  to  that  end, 
though  something  provoked  to  more.  But  this  aside.  If 
you  will  not  hear  counsel,  and  determine  to  remain  in  this 
place,  at  least  let  me  implore  you  to  observe  every  precau- 
tion, and  be  ready  to  resort  to  the  Block  House  with  the 
first  alarm.  Be  ready  in  your  defence,  and  keep  a  careful 
watch.  Let  your  nightbolts  be  well  shot.  I  too,  sir,  will  be 
something  watchful  for  you.  I  cannot  think  of  letting  you 
sacrifice,  by  your  ill-judged  obstinacy,  one,  dear  enough  to 
me,  at  least,  to  make  me  bear  with  the  discourtesies  which 
come  with  such  an  ill  grace  from  her  sire/' 

Thus  speaking,  Harrison  left  the  cottage  abruptly,  leaving 
the  old  gentleman  standing, — angry  enough  still,  but  still 
somewhat  dissatisfied  with  his  own  conduct, — in  the  middle 
of  the  floor. 


144  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Hector  met  his  master  at  the  door  of  the  cottage  with 
tidings  from  the  daughter  which  somewhat  compensated  for 
the  harsh  treatment  of  the  father.  She  had  consented  to 
their  meeting  that  afternoon  in  the  old  grove  of  oaks,  well- 
known  even  to  this  day  in  that  neighbourhood,  for  its  depth 
and  beauty  of  shadow,  and  its  sweet  fitness  for  all  the  pur- 
poses of  love.  Somewhat  more  satisfied,  therefore,  he  took 
his  way  to  the  Block  House,  where  the  foresters  awaited  him. 

They  met  in  consultation,  and  the  duties  before  Harrison 
were  manifold.  He  told  the  party  around  him  all  that  it 
was  necessary  they  should  know,  in  order  to  ensure  proper 
precautions;  and,  having  persuaded  them  of  the  necessity  of 
this  labour,  he  found  no  difficulty  in  procuring  their  aid  in 
putting  the  Block  House  in  better  trim  for  the  reception  of 
the  enemy.  To  do  this,  they  went  over  the  fabric  together. 
The  pickets  forming  an  area  or  }Tard  on  two  of  its  sides, 
having  been  made  of  the  resinous  pine  of  the  country,  were 
generally  in  good  preservation.  The  gate  securing  the  entrance 
was  gone,  however,  and  called  for  immediate  attention.  The 
door  of  the  Block  House  itself — for  it  had  but  one — had 
also  been  taken  away,  and  the  necessity  was  equally  great 
of  its  restoration.  The  lower  story  of  the  fortress  consisted 
of  but  a  single  apartment,  in  which  no  repairs  were  needed. 
The  upper  story  was  divided  into  rooms,  and  reached  by  a 
ladder — a  single  ladder  serving  the  several  divisions,  and 
transferable  to  each  place  of  access  when  the  ascent  was  de- 
sirable. One  of  these  apartments,  built  more  securely  than 
the  other,  and  pierced  with  a  single  small  window,  had  been 
meant  as  the  retreat  of  the  women  and  children,  and  was 
now  in  the  possession  of  Granger,  the  trader,  and  his  wife. 
His  small  stock  in  trade,  his  furs,  blankets,  knives,  beads, 
hatchets,  etc.,  were  strewn  confusedly  over  the  clapboard 
floor.  These  were  the  articles  most  wanted  by  the  Indians. 
Firearms  it  had  been  the  policy  of  the  English  to  keep  from 
them  as  much  as  possible.     Still,  the  intercourse  between 


THE  YEMASSEE.  145 

them  had  been  such  that  this  policy  was  not  always  adhered 
to.  Many  of  their  principal  persons  had  contrived  to  procure 
them,  either  from  the  English  tradesmen  themselves,  or  from 
the  Spaniards  of  St.  Augustine,  with  whom  of  late  the 
Yemassees  had  grown  exceedingly  intimate;  and  though, 
from  their  infrequent  use,  not  perfect  masters  of  the  weapon, 
they  were  still  sufficiently  familiar  with  it  to  increase  the 
odds  already  in  their  favour  on  the  score  of  numbers.  Apart 
from  this,  the  musket  is  but  little,  if  any  thing,  superior  to 
the  bow  and  arrow  in  the  American  forests.  It  inspires  with 
more  terror,  and  is  therefore  more  useful;  but  it  is  not  a 
whit  more  fatal.  Once  discharged,  the  musket  is  of  little 
avail.  The  Indian  then  rushes  forward,  and  the  bayonet 
becomes  innocuous,  for  the  striking  and  sure  distance  for  the 
tomahawk  in  his  hands  is  beyond  the  reach  of  its  thrust.  The 
tomahawk,  with  little  practice,  in  any  hand,  can  inflict  a 
severe  if  not  a  fatal  wound  at  twelve  paces,  and  beyond  the 
ordinary  pistol  certainty  of  that  period.  As  long  as  his 
quiver  lasts — containing  twelve  to  twenty  arrows — the  bow 
in  the  close  woods  is  superior  to  the  musket  in  the  grasp  of 
the  Indian,  requiring  only  the  little  time  necessary  after  the 
discharge  of  one,  in  fixing  another  arrow  upon  the  elastic 
sinew.  The  musket  too,  in  the  hands  of  the  Englishman, 
and  according  to  his  practice,  is  a  sightless  weapon.  He  fires 
in  line,  and  without  aim.  The  Anglo-American,  therefore, 
has  generally  adopted  the  rifle.  The  eye  of  the  Indian  regu- 
lates every  shaft  from  his  bow  with  a  rapidity  given  him  by 
repeated  and  hourly  practice  from  his  childhood,  and  he 
learns  to  take  the  same  aim  at  his  enemy  which  he  would 
take  at  the  smallest  bird  among  his  forests.  But  to  return. 
Harrison,  with  Grimstead,  the  smith,  Grayson,  Granger, 
and  the  rest,  looked  carefully  to  all  the  defences  of  the  fort- 
ress. He  employed  them  generally  in  the  repairs  considered 
necessary,  nor  withheld  his  own  efforts  in  restoring  the  broken 
timber  or  the  maimed  shutter.  The  tools  of  the  carpenter 
were  as  familiar  as  the  weapon  of  warfare,  to  the  hand  of  the 
American  woodsman,  and  the  aid  of  the  smith  soon  put 
things  in  train  for  a  stout  defence  of  the  fabric,  in  the  event 
of  any  necessity.  This  having  been  done,  the  whole  party 
assembled  in  Granger's  apartment  to  partake  of  the  frugal 


146  THE  YEMASSEE. 

meal  which  the  hands  of  the  trader's  wife  had  prepared  for 
them.  We  have  seen  the  bold  step  taken  by  this  woman  in 
delivering  up  to  the  Yemassees  the  treaty  which  conveyed 
their  lands  to  the  Carolinians,  by  which,  though  she  had 
risked  the  displeasure  of  Sir  Edmund  Bellinger,  whom  the 
point  of  honour  would  have  rendered  obstinate,  she  had  cer- 
tainly saved  the  lives  of  the  party.  She  was  a  tall,  masculine^ 
and  well-made  woman ;  of  a  sanguine  complexion,  with  deeply 
sunken,  dark  eyes,  hair  black  as  a  coal  and  cut  short  like 
that  of  a  man.  There  was  a  stern  something  in  her  glance 
which  repelled;  and  though  gentle  and  even  humble  in  her 
usual  speech,  there  were  moments  when  her  tone  was  that  of 
reckless  defiance,  and  when  her  manner  was  any  thing  but 
conciliatory.  Her  look  was  always  grave,  even  sombre,  and 
no  one  saw  her  smile.  She  thus  preserved  her  own  and  com- 
manded the  respect  of  others,  in  a  sphere  of  life  to  which 
respect,  or  in  very  moderate  degree,  is  not  often  conceded; 
and  though  now  she  did  not  sit  at  the  board  upon  which  the 
humble  meal  had  been  placed,  her  presence  restrained  the  idle 
remark  which  the  wild  life  of  most  of  those  assembled  around 
it,  would  be  well  apt  to  instigate  and  occasion.  At  dinner, 
Hector  was  examined  as  to  his  detention  on  board  of  the 
schooner.  He  told  the  story  of  his  capture  as  already  given, 
and,  though  the  poor  fellow  had  in  reality  heard  nothing,  or 
very  little,  of  the  conversation  between  the  sailor  and  the 
Indians,  yet  the  clear  narrative  which  he  gave,  descriptive  of 
the  free  intercourse  between  the  parties,  and  the  presence 
of  the  belt  of  wampum,  were  proofs  strong  as  holy  writ; — ■ 
conclusive,  certainly,  to  the  mind  of  Harrison,  of  the  suspi- 
cion he  already  entertained. 

"  And  what  of  the  schooner — what  did  you  see  there, 
Hector?" 

"  Gun,  maussa !  big  gun,  little  gun — long  sword,  little 
sword,  and  hatchets  plenty  for  In  j  ins." 

"  What  sort  of  men  ?  " 

"Ebery  sort,  maussa;  English,  Dutch,  French,  Spanish, — 
ugly  little  men  wid  big  whisker,  and  long  black  hair,  and 
face  nebber  see  water." 

This  was  information  enough;  and,  after  some  further 
deliberations,  the  parties  separated,  each  in  the  performance 


THE  YEMASSEE.  147 

of  some  duty  which,  by  previous  arrangement,  had  been 
assigned  him.  An  hour  after  the  separation,  and  Walter 
Grayson  arrived  at  the  landing  upon  the  river,  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  cottage  where  he  lived,  in  time  to  see 
his  brother,  who  was  just  about  to  put  off  with  several  bundles 
of  skins  in  a  small  boat  towards  the  vessel  of  the  supposed 
Indian  trader.  The  manner  of  the  latter  was  cold,  and  his 
tone  rather  stern  and  ungracious. 

"  I  have  waited  for  you  some  hours,  Walter  Grayson," 
said  he,  standing  upon  the  banks,  and  throwing  ajmndle  into 
the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

"  I  could  come  no  sooner,  Hugh ;  I  have  been  busy  in 
assisting  the  captain." 

"  The  captain — will  you  never  be  a  freeman,  Walter — will 
you  always  be  a  water-carrier  for  a  master?  Why  do  you 
seek  and  serve  this  swaggerer,  as  if  you  had  lost  every  jot  oi 
manly  independence  ?  " 

"  Not  so  sharp,  Hugh, — and,  my  very  good  younger  brother 
— not  so  fast.  I  have  not  served  him,  more  than  I  have 
served  you  and  all  of  us.  by  what  I  have  done  this  morning." 
He  then  went  on  to  tell  his  brother  of  the  occurrences  of 
the  day.  The  other  seemed  much  astonished,  and  there  was 
something  of  chagrin  manifest  in  his  astonishment — so  much 
so  indeed,  that  Walter  could  not  help  asking  him  if  he  re- 
gretted that  Harrison  should  get  his  slave  again. 

"No — not  so,  brother, — but  the  truth  is,  I  was  about  to 
take  my  skins  to  this  same  trader  for  sale  and  barter,  and 
my  purpose  is  something  staggered  by  your  intelligence." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  but  it  should  stagger  you ;  and  I  cer- 
tainly shouldn't  advise  you  to  proceed  on  such  a  business;— 
for  the  man  who  comes  to  smuggle  and  kidnap  will  scarcely 
heed  smaller  matters  of  trade." 

"  I  must  go,  however,  and  try  him.  I  want  every  thing, 
even  powder  and  lead." 

"  Well,  that's  a  good  want  with  you,  Hugh,  for  if  you  had 
none,  you'd  be  better  willing  to  work  at  home." 

"  I  will  not  go  into  the  field,"— said  the  other,  haughtily 
and  impatiently,  "It  will  do  for  you,  to  take  the  mule's 
labour,  who  are  so  willing  to  be  at  the  beck  and  call  of  every 
swaggering  upstart ;  but  I  will  not.     Xo !     Let  me  rather  go 


148  THE  YEMASSEB. 

with  the  Indians,  and  take  up  with  them,  and  dress  in  their 
skins,  and  disfigure  myself  with  their  savage  paint;  but  I 
will  neither  dig  nor  hew  when  I  can  do  otherwise." 

"  Ay,  when  you  can  do  otherwise,  Hugh  Grayson — I  am 
willing.  But  do  not  deceive  yourself,  young  brother  of  mine. 
I  know,  if  you  do  not,  why  the  labours  of  the  field,  which  I 
must  go  through  with,  are  your  dislike.  I  know  why  you 
will  rather  drive  the  woods,  day  after  day,  in  the  Indian 
fashion,  along  with  Chiparee  or  Occonestoga  and  with  no 
better  company,  for,  now  and  then,  a  poor  buck  or  doe,  in 
preference  to  more  regular  employment  and  a  more  certain 
subsistence." 

"  And  why  is  it  then,  Walter  ? — let  me  have  the  benefit  of 
your  knowledge." 

"  Ay,  I  know,  and  so  do  you,  Hugh ;  and  shame,  I  say,  on 
the  false  pride  which  regards  the  toil  of  your  own  father,  and 
the  labours  of  your  own  brother,  as  degrading.  Ay,  you  blush, 
and  well  you  may,  Hugh  Grayson.  It  is  the  truth — a  truth 
I  have  never  spoken  in  your  ears  before,  and  should  not  have 
spoken  now,  but  for  the  freedom  and  frequency  with  which 
you,  my  younger  brother,  and  for  whom  I  have  toiled  when 
he  could  not  toil  for  himself,  presume  to  speak  of  my  conduct 
as  slavish.  Xow,  examine  your  own,  and  know  that  as  I  am 
independent,  I  am  not  slavish;  you  can  tell  for  yourself 
whether  you  owe  as  little  to  me,  as  I  to  you  and  to  all  other 
persons.  When  you  have  answered  this  question,  Hugh,  you 
can  find  a  better  application  than  you  have  yet  made  of  that 
same  word  i  slave/  " 

The  cheek  of  the  hearer  grew  pale  and  crimson,  alternately, 
at  the  reproach  of  the  speaker,  whose  eye  watched  him  with 
not  a  little  of  that  sternness  of  glance,  which  heretofore  had 
filled  his  own.  At  one  moment  the  collected  fury  of  his  look 
seemed  to  threaten  violence,  but,  as  if  consideration  came 
opportunity,  he  turned  aside,  and  after  a  few  moments'  pause, 
replied  in  a  thick,  broken  tone  of  voice : — 

"You  have  said  well,  my  elder  brother  and  my  better.  Your 
reproach  is  just — I  am  a  dependant — a  beggar — one  who 
should  acknowledge,  if  he  has  not  craved  for,  charity.  I  say 
it — and  I  feel  it,  and  the  sooner  I  requite  the  obligation  the 
better.     I  will  go  to  this  trader,  and  sell  my  skins  if  I  can, 


THE  YEMASSEE.  149 

kidnapper  or  pirate  though  he  be.  I  will  go  to  him,  and  beg 
him  to  buy,  which  I  might  not  have  done  but  for  your  speech. 
•You  have  said  harshly,  Walter  Grayson,  very  harshly,  but 
truly,  and— I  thank  you,  I  thank  you,  believe  me— I  thank 
you  for  the  lesson." 

As  he  moved  away,  the  elder  brother  turned  quick  upon 
him,  and  with  an  ebullition  of  feeling  which  did  not  impair 
his  manliness,  he  grappled  his  hand — 

"  Hugh,  boy,  I  was  harsh  and  foolish,  but  you  drove  me  to 
it,  I  love  you,  brother— love  you  as  if  you  were  my  own  son, 
and  do  not  repent  me  of  any  thing  I  have  done  for  you; 
which,  were  it  to  be  done  over  again,  I  should  rejoice  to  do. 
But  when  you  speak  in  such  harsh  language  of  men  whom 
vou  know  I  love,  vou  provoke  me,  particularly  when  I  see  and 
know  that  you  do  them  injustice.     Xow,  Captain  Harrison, 

let  me  tell  vou — " 

"  I  would  not  hear,  Walter— nothing,  I  pray  you,  ot  that 

man!"  t    ,      .  . 

"  And  why  not  ?— Ah,  Hughey,  put  down  this  bad  spirit— 
this  impatient  spirit,  which  will  not  let  you  sleep ;  for  even  m 
your  sleep  it  speaks  out,  and  I  have  heard  it." 

"  Ha !  "  and  the  other  started,  and  laid  his  hand  on  the 
arm  of  his  brother—"  thou  hast  heard  what  ? " 

"What  I  will  not  say— not  even  to  you !— but  enough, 
Hugh,  to  satisfy  me,  that  your  dislike  to  Harrison  springs 
from  an  unbecoming  feeling." 

"Xame  it." 

"Jealousv! — I  have  already  hinted  as  much,  and  now  I 
tell  you  that  your  love  for  Bess  Matthews,  and  her  love  for 
him,"  are  the  cause  of  your  hate  to  Harrison." 

"  You  think  she  loves  him  ?  "  was  the  broken  and  huskily 
uttered  inquiry. 

"  I  do,  Hugh — honestly  I  believe  it." 

And  as  the  elder  brother  replied,  the  other  dashed  down 
his  hand,  which,  on  putting  the  question,  he  had  taken,  and 
rushed  off,  with  a  feeling  of  desperation,  in  the  direction  of 
the  boat.  In  a  moment,  seated  centrally  within  it,  he  had 
left  the  banks ;  and  a  little  flap  oar  was  plied  from  hand  to 
hand  with  a  rapidity  and  vigour  more  than  half  derived  from 
the  violent  boiling"  of  the  feverish  blood  within  his  veins. 


150  THE  YEMASSEE. 

With  a  gaze  of  sad  sympathy  and  of  genuine  feeling,  Walter 
Grayson  surveyed  his  progress  for  a  while,  then  turned  away 
to  the  cottage  and  to  other  occupations. 

In  a  little  while,  the  younger  brother,  with  his  small  cargo, 
approached  the  vessel,  'and  was  instantly  hailed  by  a  gruff 
voice  from  within. 

"  Throw  me  a  rope/'  was  the  cry  of  Grayson. 

"  For  what — what  the.  devil  should  make  us  throw  you  a 
rope  ?  who  are  you — what  do  you  want  ?  "  was  the  reply.  The 
speaker  who  was  no  other  than  our  old  acquaintance,  Chorley, 
showed  himself  at  the  same  moment,  and  looked  out  upon  the 
visitor. 

"  You  buy  furs  and  skins,  captain — I  have  both,  and  here 
is  a  bag  of  amber,  fresh  gathered,  and  the  drops  are  large.* 
I  want  powder  for  them,  and  shot — and  some  knives  and 
hatchets." 

u  You  get  none  from  me,  blast  me." 

"  What,  wherefore  are  you  here,  if  not  for  trade  ? "  was 
the  involuntary  question  of  Grayson.  The  seaman,  still  de- 
sirous of  preserving  appearances  as  much  as  possible,  found 
it  necessary  to  control  his  mood,  which  the  circumstances  of 
the  morning  were  not  altogether  calculated  to  soften  greatly. 
He  replied  therefore  evasively. 

u  Ay,  to  be  sure  I  come  for  trade,  but  can't  you  wait  till  I 
haul  up  to  the  landing  ?  I  am  afraid  there's  not  water  enough 
for  me  to  do  so  now,  for  the  stream  shoals  here,  as  I  can  tell 
by  my  soundings,  too  greatly  for  the  risk;  but  to-morrow — 
come  to-morrow,  and  I'll  trade  with  you  for  such  things  as 
you  want." 

"  And  whether  you  haul  to  the  landing  or  not,  why  not 
trade  on  board  to-day?  Let  me  bring  my  skins  up;  throw 
me  a  rope,  and  we  shall  soon  trade.     I  want  but  few  things, 

*  Amber,  in  Carolina,  was  supposed  to  exist  in  such  quantities, 
at  an  early  period  in  its  history,  that  among  the  laws  and  con- 
stitution made  by  the  celebrated  John  Locke  for  the  Province, 
we  find  one,  regulating  its  distribution  among  the  eight  lords 
proprietors.  At  present  we  have  no  evidence  of  its  fruitfulness 
in  that  quarter,  and  the  probability  is,  that  in  the  sanguine  spirit 
of  the  time,  the  notion  was  entertained  from  the  few  specimens 
occasionally  found  and  worn  by  the  Indians  [Simms's  Note]. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  151 

and  they  will  require  no  long  search ;  you  can  easily  say  if  you 
have  them." 

But  this  was  pressing  the  point  too  far  upon  Chorley's 
good-nature.  The  seaman  swore  indignantly  at  the  perti- 
nacity of  his  visitor,  and  pouring  forth  a  broadside  of  oaths, 
bade  him  tack  ship  and  trouble  him  no  longer. 

"  Be  off  now,  freshwater,  and  wait  my  time  for  trading. 
If  you  bother  me  before  I'm  ready,  I'll  send  you  more  lead 
than  you're  able  to  pay  for,  and  put  it  where  you'll  never  look 
for  it.  Put  about,  in  a  jiffy,  or  you'll  never  catch  stays 
again.  Off,  I  say,  or  I'll  send  a  shot  through  your  figure- 
head that  shall  spoil  your  beauty  for  ever." 

Grayson  was  naturally  surprised  at  this  treatment,  and  his 
fierce  spirit  felt  very  much  like  a  leap  at  the  throat  of  the 
ruffian  captain.  But  prudence  taught  him  forbearance,  in 
act  at  least.  He  was  not  sparing  of  his  words,  which  were 
as  haughty  and  insolent  as  he  could  make  them.  But  Chorley 
could  beat  him  easily  at  such  weapons,  and  the  young  man 
was  soon  content  to  give  up  the  contest.  Sternly  and  sadly, 
and  with  the  utmost  deliberation,  paddling  himself  round  with 
a  disappointed  heart,  he  made  once  more  for  the  cottage 
landing. 


152  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

It  was  about  noon  of  the  same  day,  when  the  son  of 
Sanutee,  the  outcast  and  exiled  Occonestoga,  escaping  from 
his  father's  assault  and  flying  from  the  place  of  council  as 
already  narrated,  appeared  on  the  banks  of  the  river  nearly 
opposite  the  denser  settlement  of  the  whites,  and  several 
miles  below  Pocota-ligo.  But  the  avenger  had  followed  hard 
upon  his  footsteps,  and  the  fugitive  had  suffered  terribly  in 
his  flight.  His  whole  appearance  was  that  of  the  extremest 
wretchedness.  His  dress  was  torn  by  the  thorns  of  many  a 
thicket  in  which  he  had  been  compelled  to  crawl  for  shelter. 
His  skin  was  lacerated,  and  the  brakes  and  creeks  through 
which  he  had  been  compelled  to  plough  and  plunge,  had  left 
the  tribute  of  their  mud  and  mire  on  every  inch  of  his  person. 
Nor  had  the  trials  of  his  mind  been  less.  Previous  drunken- 
ness, the  want  of  food,  and  extreme  fatigue  (for,  circuitously 
doubling  from  his  pursuers,  he  had  run  nearly  the  whole 
night,  scarcely  able  to  rest  for  a  moment),  contributed  duly 
to  the  miserable  figure  which  he  made.  His  eyes  were  swollen, 
his  cheeks  sunken,  and  there  was  a  wobegone  feebleness  and 
utter  desolateness  about  his  whole  appearance.  He  had  been 
completely  sobered  by  the  hunt  made  after  him;  and  the 
instinct  of  life,  for  he  knew  nothing  of  the  peculiar  nature 
of  the  doom  in  reserve  for  him,  had  effectually  called  all  his 
faculties  into  exercise. 

When  hurried  from  the  council-house  by  Sir  Edmund  Bel- 
linger, to  save  him  from  the  anger  of  his  father,  he  had  taken 
the  way,  under  a  filial  and  natural  influence,  to  the  lodge  of 
Matiwan.  And  she  cheered  and  would  have  cherished  him, 
could  that  have  been  done  consistently  with  her  duty  to  her 
lord.  What  she  could  do,  however,  she  did;  and,  though 
deeply  sorrowing  over  his  prostituted  manhood,  she  could  not, 
at  the  same  time,  forget  that  he  was  her  son.  But  in  her 
cabin  he  was  not  permitted  to  linger  long.  Watchful  for  the 
return  of  Sanutee,  Matiwan  was  soon  apprised  of  the  approach 


THE  YEMASSEE.  153 

of  the  pursuers.  The  people,  collected  to  avenge  themselves 
upon  the  chiefs,  were  not  likely  to  suffer  the  escape  of  one, 
who,  like  Occonestoga,  had  done  so  much  to  subject  them,  as 
they  thought,  to  the  dominion  of  the  English.  A  party  of 
them,  accordingly,  hearing  of  his  flight,  and  readily  conceiv- 
ing its  direction,  took  the  same  route;  and,  but  for  the 
mother's  watchfulness,  he  had  then  shared  the  doom  of  the 
other  chiefs.  But  she  heard  their  coming  and  sent  him  on 
his  way;  not  so  soon,  however,  as  to  make  his  start  in  advance 
of  them  a  matter  of  very  great  importance  to  his  flight.  They 
were  close  upon  his  heels,  and  when  he  cowered  silently  in  the 
brake,  they  took  their  way  directly  beside  him.  When  he  lay 
stretched  along,  under  the  cover  of  the  fallen  tree,  they 
stepped  over  his  body,  and  when,  seeking  a  beaten  path  in  his 
tortuous  course,  he  dared  to  look  around  him,  the  waving 
pine  torches  which  they  carried  flamed  before  his  eyes. — 

"  I  will  burn  feathers,  thou  shalt  have  arrows,  Opitchi- 
Manneyto.  Be  not  wrath  with  the  young  chief  of  Yemassee. 
Make  the  eyes  blind  that  hunt  after  him  for  blood.  Thou 
shalt  have  arrows  and  feathers,  Opitchi-Manneyto — a  bright 
fire  of  arrows  and  feathers !  " 

Thus,  as  he  lay  beneath  the  branches  of  a  fallen  tree,  around 
which  his  pursuers  were  winding,  the  young  warrior  uttered 
the  common  form  of  deprecation  and  prayer  to  the  evil  deity 
of  his  people,  in  the  language  of  the  nation.  But  he  did  not 
despair,  though  he  prayed.  Though  now  frequently  drunk 
and  extremely  dissolute,  Occonestoga  had  been  a  gallant  and 
very  skilful  partisan  even  in  the  estimation  of  the  Indians. 
He  had  been  one  of  the  most  promising  of  all  their  youth, 
when  first  made  a  chief,  after  a  great  battle  with  the  Savan- 
nahs, against  whom  he  distinguished  himself.  This  exceed- 
ing promise  at  the  outset  of  his  career,  rendered  the  mortifi- 
cation of  his  subsequent  fall  more  exquisitely  painful  to 
Sanutee,  who  was  a  proud  and  ambitious  man.  Xor  was 
Occonestoga  himself  utterly  insensible  to  his  degradation. 
"When  sober,  his  humiliation  and  shame  were  scarcely  less 
poignant  than  that  of  his  father;  but,  unhappily,  the  seduc- 
tion of  strong  drink  he  had  never  been  able  to  withstand. 
He  was  easily  persuaded,  and  as  easily  overcome.  He  had 
thus  gone  on  for  some  time;  and,  seeking  the  fiery  poison 


154  THE  YEMASSEE. 

only,  he  was  almost  in  daily  communication  with  the  lower 
classes  of  the  white  settlers,  from  whom  alone  liquor  could 
be  obtained.  For  this  vile  reward  he  had  condescended  to 
the  performance  of  various  services  for  these  people — offices 
which  were  held  to  be  degrading  by  his  own;  and  so  much 
had  he  been  discredited  among  the  latter,  that  but  for  his 
father's  great  influence,  which  necessarily  restrained  the 
popular  feeling  on  the  subject  of  the  son's  conduct,  he  had 
long  since  been  thrust  from  any  consideration  or  authority 
among  them.  Originally  he  had  been  highly  popular.  His 
courage  had  been  greatly  admired,  and  admirably  consorted 
with  the  strength  and  beauty  of  his  person.  Even  now, 
bloated  and  blasted  as  he  was,  there  was  something  highly 
prepossessing  in  his  general  appearance.  He  was  tall  and 
graceful,  broad  and  full  across  the  breast,  and  straight  as  an 
arrow.  But  the  soul  was  debased  within  him ;  and  there  were 
moments  when  he  felt  all  his  wretched  humiliations — mo- 
ments when  he  felt  how  much  better  it  would  be  to  strike  the 
knife  to  his  own  heart,  and  lose  the  deadly  and  degrading 
consciousness  which  made  him  ashamed  to  meet  the  gaze  of 
his  people.  Even  now,  as  he  emerges  from  the  morass,  hav- 
ing thrown  off  his  pursuers,  the  criminal  purpose  besets  him. 
You  see  it  in  his  face,  his  eye — you  see  it  in  the  swift,  hurried 
clutch  of  the  knife,  and  the  glance  upward  and  around  him. 
But  such  thoughts  and  purposes  usually  linger  for  a  moment 
only.  Baffled  then,  they  depart  as  suddenly  as  they  come. 
Occonestoga  threw  off  his  desperate  purpose,  as  he  had  thrown 
off  his  pursuers.  Once  more  he  went,  pressing  rapidly  for- 
ward, while  the  hunters  were  baffled  in  rounding  a  dense 
brake  through  which  he  had  dared  to  go.  He  was  beyond 
them,  but  they  were  between  him  and  the  river;  and  his 
course  was  bent  for  the  settlements  of  the  whites — the  only 
course  in  which  he  hoped  for  safety.  Day  came,  and  he 
thought  himself  safe ;  but  he  was  roused  by  the  hunting  cries 
of  new  pursuers.  He  almost  despairs.  His  flight  had  taken 
him  completely  out  of  his  contemplated  route.  To  recover 
and  regain  it  is  now  his  object.  Boldly  striking  across  the 
path  of  his  hunters,  Occonestoga  darted  along  the  bed  of  a 
branch  which  ran  parallel  with  the  course  he  aimed  to  take. 
He  lay  still  as  the  enemy  approached — he  heard  their  retreat- 


THE  YEMASSEE.  155 

ing  footsteps,  and  again  he  set  forward.  But  the  ear  and 
sense  of  the  Indian  are  as  keen  as  his  own  arrow,  and  the 
pursuers  were  not  long  misled.  They  retrieved  their  error, 
and  turned  with  the  fugitive ;  but  the  instinct  of  preservation 
was  still  active,  and  momentary  success  gave  him  a  new  stimu- 
lant to  exertion.  At  length,  when  almost  despairing  and 
exhausted,  his  eyes  beheld,  and  his  feet  gained,  the  bank  of 
the  river,  still  ahead  of  his  enemy;  and  grateful,  but  ex- 
hausted, he  lay  for  a  few  moments  stretched  upon  the  sands, 
and  gazing  upon  the  quiet  waters  before  him. 

He  was  not  long  suffered  to"  remain  in  peace.     A  shout 
arrested  his  attention,  and  he  started  to  his  feet  to  behold  two 
of  his  pursuers  emerging  at  a  little  distance  from  the  forest. 
This  spectacle  completed  his  misery.    Exhaustion  had  utterly 
subdued  his  soul.     He  felt,  once  more,  that  death  would  be 
far  preferable  to  the  degraded  and  outcast  life  which  he  led — 
doomed  and  pursued  for  ever  by  his  own  people— and  rising 
to  his  feet,  in  the  moment  of  his  despair,  he  threw  open  the 
folds  of  his  hunting  shirt,  and  placing  his  hand  upon  his 
breast,  cried  out  to  them  to  shoot.    But  the  bow  was  unlifted, 
the  arrow  undrawn,  and  to  his  surprise  the  men  who  had 
pursued  him  as  he  thought  for  his  blood,  now  refused  what 
they  had  desired.      They  increased  their  efforts  to  take,  but 
not"  to  destroy  him.     The  circumstance  surprised  him;  and 
wiUi  a  renewal  of  his  thought  came  a  renewed  disposition  to 
escape.     Without  further  word,  and  with  the  instantaneous 
action  of  his  reason,  he  plunged  forward  into  the  river,  and 
diving  down  like  an  otter,  reserved  his  breath  until,  rising, 
he  lay  in  the  very  centre  of  the  stream.     But  he  arose  en- 
feebled and  overcome — the  feeling  of  despair  grew  with  his 
weakness,  and  turning  a  look  of  defiance  upon  the  two  Indians 
who   still  stood  in  doubt,  watching  his   progress  from  the 
banks  which  they  had  now  gained,  he  raised  himself  breast 
high  from  the  water,  and  once  more  challenged  their  arrows 
to  his  breast,  by  smiting  it  with  a  fierce  violence,  the  action 
of  equal  defiance  and  despair.     As  they  saw  the  action,  one 
of  them,  as  if  in  compliance  with  the  demand,  lifted  his  bow; 
but  the  other  the  next  instant  struck  it  down.     Half  amazed 
and  wondering  at  what  he  saw,  and  now  almost  overcome  by 
his  effort,  the  sinking  Occonestoga  gave  a  single  shout  of 


156  THE  YEMASSEE. 

derision,  and  ceased  all  further  effort.  The  waters  bore  him 
down.  Once,  and  once  only,  his  hand  was  struck  out  as  if  in 
the  act  of  swimming,  while  his  head  was  buried;  and  then 
the  river  closed  over  him.  The  brave  but  desponding  warrior 
sunk  hopelessly,  just  as  the  little  skiff  of  Hugh  Grayson,  re- 
turning from  his  interview  with  Chorley,  which  we  have 
already  narrated,  darted  over  the  small  circle  in  the  stream 
which  still  bubbled  and  broke  where  the  young  Indian  had 
gone  down.  The  whole  scene  had  been  witnessed  by  him, 
and  he  had  urged  every  sinew  in  the  effort  to  reach  the  youth 
in  season.  His  voice,  as  he  called  aloud  to  Occonestoga,  whom 
he  well  knew,  had  been  unheard  by  the  drowning  and  despair- 
ing man.  But  still  he  came  in  time,  for,  as  his  little  boat 
darted  over  the  spot  where  the  red-man  had  been  seen  to 
sink,  the  long  black  hair  suddenly  grew  visible  again  above 
the  water,  and  in  the  next  moment  was  firmly  clutched  in 
the  grasp  of  the  Carolinian.  With  difficulty  he  sustained  the 
head  above  the  surface,  still  holding  on  by  the  hair.  The 
banks  were  not  distant,  and  the  little  paddle  which  he  em- 
ployed was  susceptible  of  use  by  one  hand.  Though  thus 
encumbered,  he  was  soon  enabled  to  get  within  his  depth. 
This  done,  he  jumped  from  the  boat,  and  by  very  great  effort 
bore  the  unconscious  victim  to  the  land.  A  shout  from  the 
Indians  on  the  opposite  bank,  attested  their  own  interest  in 
the  result;  but  they  did  not  wait  for  the  result,  disappearing 
in  the  forest  just  at  the  moment  when  returning  conscious- 
ness, on  the  part  of  Occonestoga,  had  rewarded  Grayson  for 
the  efforts  he  had  made  and  still  continued  making  for  his 
recovery. 

"  Thou  art  safe  now,  Occonestoga,"  said  the  young  man ; 
"  but  thou  hast  swallowed  more  water  of  the  river  than  well 
befits  an  empty  stomach.     How  dost  thou  feel  ?  " 

"  Feathers  and  arrows  for  thee,  Opitchi-Manneyto,"  mut- 
tered the  savage,  in  his  own  language,  his  mind  recurring  to 
the  previous  pursuit.  The  youth  continued  his  services  with- 
out pressing  him  for  answers,  and  his  exhaustion  had  been 
so  great  that  he  could  do  little  if  any  thing  for  himself.  Un- 
lashing  his  bow  and  quiver,  which  had  been  tied  securely  to 
his  back,  and  unloosing  the  belt  about  his  body,  Grayson  still 
further  contributed  to  his  relief.    At  length  he  grew  conscious, 


'S 


THE  YEMASSEE.  157 

and  sufficiently  restored  to  converse  freely  with  his  preserver ; 
and  though  still  gloomy  and  depressed,  returned  him  thanks, 
in  his  own  way,  for  the  timely  succour  which  had  saved  him. 
"  Thou  wilt  go  with  me  to  my  cabin,  Occonestoga  ?  " 
"  Xo !  Occonestoga  is  a  dog.  The  black  woods  for  Occo- 
nestoga. He  must  seek  arrows  and  feathers  for  Opitchi- 
Manneyto  who  came  to  him  in  the  swamp/7 

The  "youth  pressed  him  urgently  and  kindly;  but  finding 
him  obdurate,  and  knowing  well  the  inflexible  character  of 
the  Indian,  he  gave  up  the  hope  of  persuading  him  to  his 
habitation.  They  separated  at  length  after  the  delay  of  an 
hour— Grayson  again  in  his  canoe,  and  Occonestoga  plunging 
into  the  woods  in  the  direction  of  the  Block  House. 


158  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

The  afternoon  of  that  day  was  one  of  those  clear,  sweet, 
balmy  afternoons,  such  as  make  of  the  spring  season  in  the 
south,  a  holiday  term  of  nature.  All  was  animated  life  and 
freshness.    The  month  of  April,  in  that  region,  is,  indeed, 


-"  the  time, 


When  the  merry  birds  do  chime 
Airy  wood-notes  wild  and  free, 
In  secluded  bower  and  tree, 
Season  of  fantastic  change, 
Sweet,  familiar,  wild,  and  strange- 
Time  of  promise,  when  the  leaf 
Has  a  tear  of  pleasant  grief, — 
When  the  winds,  by  nature  coy, 
Do  both  cold  and  heat  alloy, 
Nor  to  either  will  dispense 
Their   delighting  preference." 

The  day  had  been  gratefully  warm;  and,  promising  an 
early  summer,  there  was  a  prolific  show  of  foliage  throughout 
the  forest.     The  twittering  of  a  thousand  various  birds,  and 
the  occasional  warble  of  that  Puck  of  the  American  forests, 
the  mocker— the  Coonelatee,  or  Trick-tongue  of  the  Yemas- 
sees— together  with   the   gleesome   murmur   of   zephyr   and 
brook,  gave  to  the  scene  an  aspect  of  wooing  and  seductive 
repose,  that  could  not  fail  to  win  the  sense  into  a  most  happy 
unconsciousness.     The  old  oaken  grove  which  Bess  Matthews, 
m  compliance  with  the  prayer  of  her  lover,  now  approached, 
was  delightfully  conceived  for  such  an  occasion.     All  things 
within  it  seemed  to  breathe  of  love.     The  murmur  of  the 
brooklet,  the  song  of  the  bird,  the  hum  of  the  zephyr  in  the 
tree-top,  had  each  a  corresponding  burden.     The  Providence 
surely  has  its  purpose  in  associating  only  with  the  woods  those 
gentle   and   beautiful   influences   which   are  without   use  or 
object  to  the  obtuse  sense,  and  can  only  be  felt  and  valued  by 
a  spirit  of  corresponding  gentleness  and  beauty.     The  scene 
itself,  to  the  eye,  was  of  character  to  correspond  harmoniously 


■\ 


THE  YEMASSEE.  159 

with  the  song  of  birds  and  the  playful  sport  of  zephyrs.  The 
rich  green  of  the  leaves — the  deep  crimson  of  the  wild  flower 
— the  gemmed  and  floral-knotted  long  grass  that  carpeted  the 
path — the  deep,  solemn  shadows  of  evening,  and  the  trees 
through  which  the  now  declining  sun  was  enabled  only  here 
and  there  to  sprinkle  a  few  drops  from  his  golden  censer — 
all  gave  power  to  that  spell  of  quiet,  which,  by  divesting  the 
mind  of  its  associations  of  every-day  and  busy  life,  throws  it 
back  upon  its  early  and  unsophisticated  nature — restoring 
that  time,  in  the  elder  and  better  condition  of  humanity, 
when,  unchanged  by  conventional  influences,  the  whole  busi- 
ness of  life  seems  to  have  been  the  worship  of  high  spirits, 
and  the  exercise  of  living,  holy,  and  generous  affections. 

The  scene  and  time  had  a  strong  influence  over  the  maiden, 
as  she  slowly  took  her  way  to  the  place  where  she  was  to  meet 
her  lover.  Bess  Matthews,  indeed,  was  singularly  susceptible 
of  such  influences.  She  was  a  girl  of  heart,  but  a  wild  heart, — 
a  thing  of  the  forest, — gentle  as  its  innocentest  flowers,  quite 
as  lovely,  and  if,  unlike  them,  the  creature  of  a  less  fleeting 
life,  one,  at  least,  whose  youth  and  freshness  might  almost 
persuade  us  to  regard  her  as  never  having  been  in  existence 
for  a  longer  season.  She  was  also  a  girl  of  thought  and  intel- 
lect— something,  too,  of  a  dreamer: — one  to  whom  a  song 
brought  a  sentiment — the  sentiment  an  emotion,  and  that  in 
turn  sought  for  an  altar  on  which  to  lay  all  the  worship  of 
her  spirit.  She  had  in  her  own  heart  a  far  sweeter  song  than 
that  which  she  occasionally  murmured  from  her  lips.  She 
felt  all  the  poetry,  all  the  truth  of  the  scene — its  passion,  its 
inspiration;  and,  with  a  holy  sympathy  for  all  of  nature's 
beautiful,  the  associated  feeling  of  admiration  for  all  that 
was  noble,  also,  awakened  in  her  mind  a  sentiment,  and  in 
her  heart  an  emotion,  that  led  her,  not  less  to  the  most  care- 
ful forbearance  to  tread  upon  the  humblest  flower,  than  to  a 
feeling  little  short  of  reverence  in  the  contemplation  of  the 
gigantic  tree.  It  was  her  faith,  with  one  of  the  greatest  of 
modern  poets,  that  the  daisy  enjoyed  its  existence;  and  that, 
too,  in  a  degree  of  exquisite  perception,  duly  according  with 
its  loveliness  of  look  and  delicacy  of  structure.  The  innate 
principle  of  regard  for  the  beautiful  forest  idiots,  as  we  may 
call  its  leaves  and  flowers,  was  duly  heightened,  we  may  add, 


160  THE  YEMASSEE. 

by  the  soft  passion  of  love  then  prevailing  in  her  bosom  for 
Gabriel  Harrison.  She  loved  him,  as  she  found  in  him  the 
strength  of  the  tree  well  combined  with  the  softness  of  the 
flower.  Her  heart  and  fancy  at  once  united  in  the  recognition 
of  his  claims  upon  her  affection;  and,  however  unknown  in 
other  respects,  she  loved  him  deeply  and  devotedly  for  what 
she  knew.  Beyond  what  she  saw — beyond  the  knowledge 
gathered  from  his  uttered  sentiments,  and  the  free  grace  of 
his  manner — his  manliness,  and  playful  frankness — he  was 
scarcely  less  a  mystery  to  her  than  to  her  father,  to  whom 
mystery  had  far  less  of  recommendation.  But  the  secret — 
and  he  freely  admitted  that  there  was  a  secret — he  promised 
her  should  soon  be  revealed;  and  it  was  pleasant  to  her  to 
confide  in  the  assurance.  She  certainly  longed  for  the  time 
to  come;  and  we  shall  be  doing  no  discredit  to  her  sense  of 
maidenly  delicacy  when  we  say,  that  she  wished  for  the  devel- 
opment not  so  much  because  she  desired  the  satisfaction  of  her 
curiosity,  as  because  the  objections  of  her  sire,  so  Harrison 
had  assured  her,  would  then  certainly  be  removed,  and  their 
union  would  immediately  follow. 

"He  is  not  come,"  she  murmured,  half  disappointed,  as 
the  old  grove  of  oaks  with  all  its  religious  solemnity  of  shadow 
lay  before  her.  She  took  her  seat  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  the 
growth  of  a  century,  whose  thick  and  knotted  roots,  started 
from  their  sheltering  earth,  shot  even  above  the  long  grass 
around  them,  and  ran  in  irregular  sweeps  for  a  considerable 
distance  upon  the  surface.  Here  she  sat  not  long,  for  her 
mind  grew  impatient  and  confused  with  the  various  thoughts 
crowding  upon  it — sweet  thoughts  it  may  be,  for  she  thought 
of  him  whom  she  loved, — of  him  almost  only;  and  of  the  long 
hours  of  happy  enjoyment  which  the  future  had  in  store. 
Then  came  the  fears,  following  fast  upon  the  hopes,  as  the 
shadows  follow  the  sunlight.  The  doubts  of  existence— the 
brevity  and  the  fluctuations  of  life;  these  are  the  contempla- 
tions even  of  happy  love,  and  these  beset  and  saddened  her; 
till,  starting  up  in  that  dreamy  confusion  which  the  scene  not 
less  than  the  subject  of  her  musings  had  inspired,  she  glided 
among  the  old  trees,  scarce  conscious  of  her  movement. 

"  He  does  not  come — he  does  not  come,"  she  murmured,  as 
she  stood  contemplating  the  thick  copse  spreading  before  her, 


THE  YEMASSEE.  161 

and  forming  the  barrier  which  terminated  the  beautiful  range 
-  of  oaks  which  constituted  the  grove.  How  beautiful  was  the 
green  and  garniture  of  that  little  copse  of  wood.  The  leaves 
were  thick,  and  the  grass  around  lay  folded  over  and  over  in 
bunches,  with  here  and  there  a  wild  flower,  gleaming  from 
its  green,  and  making  of  it  a  beautiful  carpet  of  the  richest 
and  most  various  texture.  A  small  tree  rose  from  the  centre 
of  a  clump  around  which  a  wild  grape  gadded  luxuriantly; 
and,  with  an  incoherent  sense  of  what  she  saw,  she  lingered 
before  the  little  cluster,  seeming  to  survey  that  which,  though 
it  seemed  to  fix  her  eye,  yet  failed  to  fill  her  thought.  Her 
mind  wandered — her  soul  was  far  away;  and  the  objects  in 
her  vision  were  far  other  than  those  which  occupied  her 
imagination.  Things  grew  indistinct  beneath  her  eye.  The 
eye  rather  slept  than  saw.  The  musing  spirit  had  given  holi- 
day to  the  ordinary  senses,  and  took  no  heed  of  the  forms 
that  rose,  and  floated,  or  glided  away,  before  them.  In  this 
way,  the  leaf  detached  made  no  impression  upon  the  sight 
that  was  yet  bent  upon  it;  she  saw  not  the  bird,  though  it 
whirled,  untroubled  by  a  fear,  in  wanton  circles  around  her 
head — and  the  black-snake,  with  the  rapidity  of  an  arrow, 
darted  over  her  path  without  arousing  a  single  terror  in  the 
form  that  otherwise  would  have  shivered  at  its  mere  appear- 
ance. And  yet,  though  thus  indistinct  were  all  things  around 
her  to  the  musing  mind  of  the  maiden,  her  eye  was  yet  singu- 
larly fixed — fastened,  as  it  were,  to  a  single  spot — gathered 
and  controlled  by  a  single  object,  and  glazed,  apparent^, 
beneath  a  curious  fascination.  Before  the  maiden  rose  a  little 
clump  of  bushes, — bright  tangled  leaves  flaunting  wide  in 
glossiest  green,  with  vines  trailing  over  them,  thickly  decked 
with  the  blue  and  crimson  flowers.  Her  eye  communed 
vacantly  with  these;  fastened  by  a  star-like  shining  glance — 
a  subtle  ray,  that  shot  out  from  the  circle  of  green  leaves — 
seeming  to  be  their  very  eye — and  sending  out  a  fluid  lustre 
that  seemed  to  stream  across  the  space  between,  and  find  its 
way  into  her  own  eyes.  Very  piercing  and  beautiful  was  that 
subtle  brightness,  of  the  sweetest,  strangest  power.  And  now 
the  leaves  quivered  and  seemed  to  float  away,  only  to  return, 
and  the  vines  waved  and  swung  around  in  fantastic  mazes, 
unfolding  ever-changing  varieties  of  form  and  colour  to  her 


162  THE  YEMASSEE. 

gaze;  but  the  star-like  eye  was  ever  steadfast,  bright  and 
gorgeous  gleaming  in  their  midst,  and  still  fastened,  with 
strange  fondness,  upon  her  own.  How  beautiful,  with  won- 
drous intensity,  did  it  gleam,  and  dilate,  growing  large  and 
more  lustrous  with  every  ray  which  it  sent  forth.  And  her 
own  glance  became  intense,  fixed  also;  but  with  a  dreaming 
sense  that  conjured  up  the  wildest  fancies,  terribly  beautiful, 
that  took  her  soul  away  from  her,  and  wrapt  it  about  as  with 
a  spell.  She  would  have  fled,  she  would  have  flown;  but  she 
had  not  power  to  move.  The  will  was  wanting  to  her  flight. 
She  felt  that  she  could  have  bent  forward  to  pluck  the  gem- 
like thing  from  the  bosom  of  the  leaf  in  which  it  seemed  to 
grow,  and  which  it  irradiated  with  its  bright  white  gleam;, 
but  ever  as  she  aimed  to  stretch  forth  her  hand,  and  bend  for- 
ward, she  heard  a  rush  of  wings,  and  a  shrill  scream  from  the 
tree  above  her — such  a  scream  as  the  mock-bird  makes,  when, 
angrily,  it  raises  its  dusky  crest,  and  flaps  its  wings  furiously 
against  its  slender  sides.  Such  a  scream  seemed  like  a  warn- 
ing, and  though  yet  unawakened  to  full  consciousness,  it 
startled  her  and  forbade  her  effort.  More  than  once,  in  her 
survey  of  this  strange  object,  had  she  heard  that  shrill  note, 
and  still  had  it  carried  to  her  ear  the  same  note  of  warning, 
and  to  her  mind  the  same  vague  consciousness  of  an  evil 
presence.  But  the  star-like  eye  was  yet  upon  her  own — a 
small,  bright  eye,  quick  like  that  of  a  bird,  now  steady  in 
its  place  and  observant  seemingly  only  of  hers,  now  darting 
forward  with  all  the  clustering  leaves  about  it,  and  shooting 
up  towards  her,  as  if  wooing  her  to  seize.  At  another 
moment,  riveted  to  the  vine  which  lay  around  it,  it  would 
whirl  round  and  round,  dazzlingly  bright  and  beautiful,  even 
as  a  torch,  waving  hurriedly  by  night  in  the  hands  of  some 
playful  boy; — but,  in  all  this  time,  the  glance  was  never 
taken  from  her  own — there  it  grew,  fixed — a  very  principle  of 
light, — and  such  a  light — a  subtle,  burning,  piercing,  fasci- 
nating gleam,  such  as  gathers  in  vapour  above  the  old  grave, 
and  binds  us  as  we  look — shooting,  darting  directly  into  her 
eye,  dazzling  her  gaze,  defeating  its  sense  of  discrimination, 
and  confusing  strangely  that  of  perception.  She  felt  dizzy, 
for,  as  she  looked,  a  cloud  of  colours,  bright,  gay,  various 
colours,  floated  and  hung  like  so  much  draper}'  around  the 


THE  YEMASSEE.  163 

single  object  that  had  so  secured  her  attention  and  spell-bound 
her  feet.    Her  limbs  felt  momently  more  and  more  insecure — 
her  blood  grew  cold,  and  she  seemed  to  feel  the  gradual  freeze 
of  vein  by  vein,  throughout  her  person.     At  that  moment  a 
rustling  was  heard  in  the  branches  of  the  tree  beside  her,  and 
the  bird,  which  had  repeatedly  uttered  a  single  cry  above  her, 
as  it  were  of  warning,  flew  away  from  his  station  with  a  scream 
more  piercing  than  ever.     This  movement  had  the  effect,  for 
which  it  really  seemed  intended,  of  bringing  back  to  her  a 
portion  of  the  consciousness  she  seemed  so  totally  to  have 
been  deprived  of  before.    She  strove  to  move  from  before  the 
beautiful  but  terrible  presence,  but  for  a  while  she  strove  in 
vain.      The  rich,  star-like  glance  still  riveted  her  own,  and 
the  subtle  fascination  kept  her  bound.     The  mental  energies, 
however,  with  the  moment  of  their  greatest  trial,  now  gath- 
ered suddenly  to  her  aid;  and,  with  a  desperate  effort,  but 
with  a  feeling  still  of  most  annoying  uncertainty  and  dread, 
she  succeeded  partially  in  the  attempt,  and  threw  her  arms 
backwards,  her  hands  grasping  the  neighbouring  tree,  feeble, 
tottering,  and  depending  upon  it  for  that  support  which  her 
own  limbs  almost  entirely  denied  her.     With  her  movement, 
however,  came  the  full  development  of  the  powerful  spell  and 
dreadful  mystery  before  her.      As  her  feet  receded,  though 
but  a  single  pace,  to  the  tree  against  which  she  now  rested, 
the  audibly  articulated  ring,  like  that  of  a  watch  when  wound 
up  with  the  verge  broken,  announced  the  nature  of  that  splen- 
did vet  dangerous  presence,  in  the  form  of  the  monstrous 
rattlesnake,  now  but  a  few  feet  before  her,  lying  coiled  at  the 
bottom  of  a  beautiful  shrub,  with  which,  to  her  dreaming 
eye,  many  of  its  own  glorious  hues  had  become  associated. 
She  was,  at  length,  conscious  enough  to  perceive  and  to  feel 
all  her  danger ;  but  terror  had  denied  her  the  strength  neces- 
sarv  to  fly  from  her  dreadful  enemy.     There  still  the  eye 
glared  beautifully  bright  and  piercing  upon  her  own;  and, 
seemingly  in  a  spirit  of  sport,  the  insidious  reptile  slowly  un- 
wound himself  from  his  coil,  but  only  to  gather  himself  up 
again  into  his  muscular  rings,  his  great  flat  head  rising  m 
the  midst,  and  slowly  nodding,  as  it  were,  towards  her,  the 
eve  still  peering  deeply  into  her  own ;— the  rattle  still  slightly 
ringing  at  intervals,  and  giving  forth  that  paralyzing  sound, 


164  THE  YEMASSEE. 

which,  once  heard,  is  remembered  for  ever.  The  reptile  all 
this  while  appeared  to  be  conscious  of,  and  to  sport  with, 
while  seeking  to  excite  her  terrors.  Now,  with  its  flat  head, 
distended  mouth,  and  curving  neck,  would  it  dart  forward 
its  long  form  towards  her, — its  fatal  teeth,  unfolding  on 
either  side  of  its  upper  jaws,  seeming  to  threaten  her  with 
instantaneous  death,  while  its  powerful  eye  shot  forth  glances 
of  that  fatal  power  of  fascination,  malignantly  bright,  which, 
by  paralyzing,  with  a  novel  form  of  terror  and  of  beauty,  may 
readily  account  for  the  spell  it  possesses  of  binding  the  feet 
of  the  timid,  and  denying  to  fear  even  the  privilege  of  flight. 
Could  she  have  fled!  She  felt  the  necessity;  but  the  power 
of  her  limbs  was  gone !  and  there  still  it  lay,  coiling  and  un- 
coiling, its  arching  neck  glittering  like  a  ring  of  brazed 
copper,  bright  and  lurid;  and  the  dreadful  beauty  of  its  eye 
still  fastened,  eagerly  contemplating  the  victim,  while  the 
pendulous  rattle  still  rang  the  death  note,  as  if  to  prepare  the 
conscious  mind  for  the  fate  which  is  momently  approach- 
ing to  the  blow.  Meanwhile  the  stillness  became  death-like 
with  all  surrounding  objects.  The  bird  had  gone  with  its 
scream  and  rush.  The  breeze  was  silent.  The  vines  ceased 
to  wave.  The  leaves  faintly  quivered  on  their  stems.  The 
serpent  once  more  lay  still ;  but  the  eye  was  never  once  turned 
away  from  the  victim.  Its  corded  muscles  are  all  in  coil. 
They  have  but  to  unclasp  suddenly,  and  the  dreadful  folds 
will  be  upon  her,  its  full  length,  and  the  fatal  teeth  will  strike, 
and  the  deadly  venom  which  they  secrete  will  mingle  with 
the  life  blood  in  her  veins. 

The  terrified  damsel,  her  full  consciousness  restored,  but 
not  her  strength,  feels  all  the  danger.  She  sees  that  the  sport 
of  the  terrible  reptile  is  at  an  end.  She  cannot  now  mistake 
the  horrid  expression  of  its  eye.  She  strives  to  scream,  but 
the  voice  dies  away,  a  feeble  gurgling  in  her  throat.  Her 
tongue  is  paralyzed;  her  lips  are  sealed — once  more  she 
strives  for  flight,  but  her  limbs  refuse  their  office.  She  has 
nothing  left  of  life  but  its  fearful  consciousness.  It  is  in 
her  despair,  that,  a  last  effort,  she  succeeds  to  scream,  a  single 
wild  cry,  forced  from  her  by  the  accumulated  agony;  she 
sinks  down  upon  the  grass  before  her  enemy — her  eyes,  how- 
ever, still  open,  and  still  looking  upon  those  which  he  directs 


"\ 


THE  YEMASSEE.  165 

for  ever  upon  them.  She  sees  him  approach — now  advancing, 
now  receding — now  swelling  in  every  part  with  something  of 
anger,  while  his  neck  is  arched  beautifully  like  that  of  a  wild 
horse  under  the  curb;  until,  at  length,  tired  as  it  were  of 
play,  like  the  cat  with  its  victim,  she  sees  the  neck  growing 
larger  and  becoming  completely  bronzed  as  about  to  strike — ■ 
the  huge  jaws  unclosing  almost  directly  above  her,  the  long 
tubulated  fang,  charged  with  venom,  protruding  from  the 
cavernous  mouth — and  she  sees  no  more !  Insensibility  came 
to  her  aid,  and  she  lay  almost  lifeless  under  the  very  folds  of 
the  monster. 

In  that  moment  the  copse  parted— and  an  arrow,  piercing 
the  monster  through  and  through  the  neck,  bore  his  head 
forward  to  the  ground,  alongside  of  the  maiden,  while  his 
spiral  extremities,  now  unfolding  in  his  own  agony,  were 
actually,  in  part,  writhing  upon  her  person.  The  arrow  came 
from  the  fugitive  Occonestoga,  who  had  fortunately  reached 
the  spot,  in  season,  on  his  way  to  the  Block  House.  He 
rushed  from  the  copse,  as  the  snake  fell,  and,  with  a  stick, 
fearlessly  approached  him  where  he  lay  tossing  in  agony  upon 
the  grass.  Seeing  him  advance,  the  courageous  reptile' made 
an  effort  to  regain  his  coil,  shaking  the  fearful  rattle  violently 
at  every  evolution  which  he  took  for  that  purpose;  but  the 
arrow,  completely  passing  through  his  neck,  opposed  an  un- 
yielding obstacle  to  the  endeavour;  and  finding  it  hopeless, 
and  seeing  the  new  enemy  about  to  assault  him,  with  some- 
thing of  the  spirit  of  the  white  man  under  like  circumstances, 
he  turned  desperately  round,  and  striking  his  charged  fangs, 
so  that  they  were  riveted  in  the  wound  they  made,  into  a  sus- 
ceptible part  of  his  own  body,  he  threw  himself  over  with  a 
single  convulsion,  and,  a  moment  after,  lay  dead  beside  the 
utterly  unconscious  maiden.* 

*  The  power  of  the  rattlesnake  to  fascinate,  is  a  frequent  faith 
among  the  superstitious  of  the  southern  country-people.  Of  this 
capacity  in  reference  to  birds  and  insects,  frogs,  and  the  smaller 
reptiles,  there  is  indeed  little  question.  Its  power  over  persons 
is  not  so  well  authenticated,  although  numberless  instances  of 


166  THE  YEMASSEE. 

this  sort  are  given  by  persons  of  very  excellent  veracity.  The 
above  is  almost  literally  worded  after  a  verbal  narrative  furnished 
the  author  by  an  old  lady,  who  never  dreamed,  herself,  of  doubt- 
ing the  narration.  It  is  more  than  probable,  indeed,  that  the 
mind  of  a  timid  person,  coming  suddenly  upon  a  reptile  so  highly 
venomous,  would  for  a  time  be  paralyzed  by  its  consciousness  o! 
danger,  sufficiently  so  to  defeat  exertion  for  a  while,  and  deny 
escape.  The  authorities  for  this  superstition  are,  however,  quite 
sufficient  for  the  romancer,  and  in  a  work  like  the  present  we 
need  no  other   [Simms's  Note]. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  167 


CHAPTEE   XXI. 

Without  giving  more  than  a  single  glance  to  the  maiden, 
Occonestoga  approached  the  snake,  and,  drawing  his  knife, 
prepared  to  cut  away  the  rattles,  always  a  favourite  Indian 
ornament,  which  terminated  his  elongated  folds.  He  ap- 
proached his  victim  with  a  deportment  the  most  respectful, 
and,  after  the  manner  of  his  people,  gravely,  and  in  the 
utmost  good  faith,  apologized  in  well  set  terms,  in  his  own 
language,  for  the  liberty  he  had  already  taken,  and  that  which 
he  was  then  about  to  take.  He  protested  the  necessity  he  had 
been  under  in  destroying  it ;  and,  urging  his  desire  to  possess 
the  excellent  and  only  evidence  of  his  own  prowess  in  conquer- 
ing so  great  a  warrior,  which  the  latter  carried  at  his  tail,  he 
proceeded  to  cut  away  the  rattles  with  as  much  tenderness  as 
could  have  been  shown  by  the  most  considerate  operator, 
divesting  a  fellow-creature,  still  living,  of  his  limbs.  A  pro- 
ceeding like  this,  so  amusing  as  it  would  seem  to  us,  is  readily 
accounted  for,  when  we  consider  the  prevailing  sentiment 
among  the  Indians  in  reference  to  the  rattlesnake.  With 
them  he  is  held  the  gentleman,  the  nobleman — the  very  prince 
of  snakes.  His  attributes  are  devoutly  esteemed  among  them, 
and  many  of  "their  own  habits  derive  their  existence  from 
models  furnished  by  his  peculiarities.  He  is  brave,  will  never 
fly  from  an  enemy,  and  for  this  they  honour  him.  If 
approached,  he  holds  his  ground  and  is  never  unwilling  for 
the  combat.  He  does  not  begin  the  affray,  and  is  content  to 
defend  himself  against  invasion.  He  will  not  strike  without 
due  warning  of  his  intention,  and  when  he  strikes,  the  blow 
of  his  weapon  is  fatal.  It  is  highly  probable,  indeed,  that, 
even  the  war-whoop  with  which  the  Indians  preface  their  own 
onset,  has  been  borrowed  from  the  warning  rattle  of  this 
fatal,  but  honourable  enemy.* 

*  This  respect  of  the  Indians  for  the  rattlesnake,  leading  most 
usually  to  much  forbearance  when  they  encountered  him,  neces- 
sarily resulted  in  the  greater  longevity  of  this  snake  than  of 
any  other.      In  some  cases,  they  have  been  found  so  overgrown 


168  THE  YEMASSEE. 

Many  minutes  had  not  elapsed  before  the  operation  was 
completed,  and  the  Indian  became  the  possessor  of  the  desired 
trophy.  The  snake  had  thirteen  rattles,  and  a  button,  or  incip- 
ient rattle ;  it  was  therefore  fourteen  years  old — as  it  acquires 
the  button  during  its .  first  year,  and  each  succeeding  year 
yields  it  a  new  rattle.  As  Occonestoga  drew  the  body  of  the 
serpent  from  that  of  Bess  Matthews,  her  eyes  unclosed,  though 
but  for  an  instant.  The  first  object  in  her  gaze  was  the 
swollen  and  distorted  reptile,  which  the  Indian  was  just  then 
removing  from  her  sight.  Her  terror  was  aroused  anew,  and 
with  a  single  shriek  she  again  closed  her  eyes  in  utter  uncon- 
sciousness. At  that  moment,  Harrison  darted. down  the  path. 
That  single  shriek  had  given  wings  to  his  movement,  and 
rushing  forward,  and  beholding  her  lifted  in  the  arms  of 
Occonestoga,  who,  at  her  cry,  had  come  to  her  support,  and 
had  raised  her  partially  from  the  ground — he  sprang  fiercely 
upon  him,  tore  her  from  his  hold,  and  sustaining  her  with 
one  hand,  wielded  his  hatchet  fiercely  in  the  other  above  his 
own  head,  while  directing  its  edge  upon  that  of  the  Indian. 
Occonestoga  looked  up  indifferently,  almost  scornfully,  and 
without  exhibiting  any  wish  to  escape  the  blow.  This  appear- 
ance of  indifference  or  recklessness  arrested  the  arm  of  Harri- 
son, and  caused  him  to  doubt  and  hesitate. 

"  Speak,  young  chief  !  speak,  Occonestoga ; — say  what  does 
this  mean?  What  have  you  done  to  the  maiden?  Quickly 
speak,  or  I  strike/' 

"  Strike,  Harrison ! — the  hatchet  is  good  for  Occonestoga. 
He  has  a  death-song  that  is  good.     He  can  die  like  a  man." 

"  What  hast  thou  done  with  the  maiden — tell  me,  Occones- 
toga, ere  I  hew  thee  down  like  a  dog." 

"  Occonestoga  is  a  dog.  Sanutee,  the  father  of  Occonestoga, 
says  he  is  a  dog  of  the  English.  There  is  no  fork  in  the 
tongue  of  Sanutee.    Look !    The  war-rattle  put  his  eye  on  the 

from  this  forbearance,  as  to  be  capable  of  swallowing  entire  a 
young  fawn.  An  instance  of  this  description  has  been  .related 
by  the  early  settlers  of  South  Carolina,  and,  well  authenticated, 
is  to  be  found  on  record.  The  movements  of  the  rattlesnake  are 
usually  very  slow,  and  the  circumstance  of  his  taking  prey  so 
agile  as  the  fawn,  would  be  something  in  favour  of  an  extensive 
fascinating  faculty.  That  he  takes  birds  with  some  such  influence 
there  is  no  sort  of  question  [Simms's  Note]. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  169 

;  girl  of  the  pale-face,  and  she  cried  out,  for  his  eye  was  upon 
her  to  kill !  Look,  Harrison,  it  is  the  arrow  of  Occonestoga," 
and  as  he  spoke  he  pointed  to  the  shaft  which  still  stuck  in 
the  neck  of  the  serpent.  Harrison,  who  before  had  not  seen 
the  snake,  which  the  Indian  had  thrown  aside  under  the 
neighbouring  bush,  now  shivered  as  with  a  convulsion,  while, 
almost  afraid  to  speak,  and  his  face  paling  like  death  as  he 
did  so,  he  cried  to  him  in  horror : — 

"  God  of  Heaven — tell  me,  Occonestoga — say — is  she  struck 
— is  she  struck  ? "  and  before  he  could  hear  the  reply  his 
tremors  were  so  great  that  he  was  compelled  to  lay  the  still 
insensible  form  of  the  maiden,  unequal  then  to  her  support, 
upon  the  grass  beneath  the  tree. 

The  Indian  smiled,  with  something  of  scornful  satisfaction, 
as  he  replied — 

"  It  was  the  swift  arrow  of  Occonestoga — and  the  war- 
rattle  had  no  bite  for  the  girl  of  the  pale-faces.  The  blood  is 
good  in  her  heart." 

"  Thank  God — thank  God !  Young  chief  of  the  Yemassee, 
I  thank  thee — I  thank  thee,  Occonestoga — thou  shalt  have  a 
rich  gift — a  noble  reward  for  this ; "  and,  seizing  the  hand 
of  the  }routh  wildly,  he  pressed  it  with  a  tenacious  gripe  that 
well  attested  the  sincerity  of  his  feelings.  But  the  gloom  of 
the  recreant  savage  was  too  deeply  driven  into  his  spirit  by 
his  recent  treatment  and  fugitive  privations,  to  experience 
much  pleasure,  either  from  the  proffered  friendship  or  the 
promised  reward  of  the  English.  He  had  some  feeling  of 
nationality  left,  which  a  return  to  sobriety  always  made  active. 

"  Occonestoga  is  a  dog,"  said  he ;  "  death  for  Occonestoga  !  n 

For  a  moment  Harrison  searched  him  narrowly  with  his  eye; 
but  as  he  saw  in  his  look  nothing  but  the  one  expression  with 
which  an  Indian  in  the  moment  of  excitement  conceals  all 
others,  of  sullen  indifference  to  all  things  around  him,  he 
forbore  further  remark,  and  simply  demanded  assistance  in 
the  recovery  of  the  maiden.  Water  was  brought,  and  after  a 
few  moments  her  lover  had  the  satisfaction  of  noting  her 
returning  consciousness.  The  colour  came  back  to  her  cheeks,  y 
her  eyes  opened  upon  the  light,  her  lips  murmured  in  prayer, 
— a  prayer  for  protection,  as  if  she  still  felt  the  dangers  pres- 


170  THE  YEMASSEE. 

ent  and  threatening  still,  from  which  she  had  escaped  so 
happily.      But  the  glance  of  her  lover  reassured  her. 

"  Oh,  Gabriel,  such  a  dream— such  a  horrible  dreain,"  and 
she  shuddered  and  looked  anxiously  around  her. 

"  Ay,  dearest,  such  as  I  trust  you  will  never  again  suffer. 
But  fear  not.  You  are  now  safe  and  entirely  unhurt.  Thanks 
to  our  brave  friend  Occonestoga  here,  whose  arrow  has  been 
your  safety." 

"  Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  young  chief — I  know  thee;  I  shall 
remember,"  and  she  looked  gratefully  to  the  Indian,  whose 
head  simply  nodded  a  recognition  of  her  acknowledgment. 

"  But  where,  Gabriel,  is  the  monster  ?  Oh !  how  its  eye 
dazzled  and  ensnared  me.  I  felt  as  if  my  feet  were  tied,  and 
mv  knees  had  lost  all  their  strength." 

"  There  he  lies,  Bess,  and  a  horrible  monster  he  is,  indeed. 
See  there,  his  rattles,  thirteen  and  a  button — an  old  snake, 
whose  blow  must  have  been  instant  death ! " 

The  maiden  shuddered  as  she  looked  upon  the  reptile  to 
whose  venom  she  had  so  nearly  fallen  a  victim.  It  was  now 
swollen  to  a  prodigious  size  from  the  natural  effects  of  its  own 
poison.  In  places  about  its  body,  which  the  fatal  secretion 
had  most  easily  affected,  it  had  bulged  out  into  putrid  lumps, 
almost  to  bursting;  while,  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  its 
attenuated  length,  the  linked  diamonds  which  form  the  orna- 
ment of  its  back,  had,  from  the  original  dusky  brown  and 
sometimes  bronze  of  their  colour,  now  assumed  a  complexion 
of  spotted  green — livid  and  diseased.  Its  eyes,  however, 
though  glazed,  had  not  yet  lost  all  of  that  original  and  awful 
brightness,  which,  when  looking  forth  in  anger,  nothing  can 
surpass  for  terrific  beauty  of  expression.  The  powers  of  this 
glance  none  may  well  express,  and  few  imagine;  and  when 
we  take  into  consideration  the  feeling  of  terror  with  which 
the  timid  mind  is  apt  to  contemplate  an  object  known  to  be 
so  fatal,  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  account  for  its  possession 
of  the  charm  commonly  ascribed  to  this  reptile  in  the  southern 
country,  by  which,  it  is  the  vulgar  faith,  he  can  compel  the 
bird  from  the  highest  tree  to  leave  his  perch,  shrieking  with 
fear  and  full  of  the  most  dreadful  consciousness,  struggling 
with  all  the  power  of  its  wings,  and  at  last,  after  every  effort 
has  proved  fruitless,  under  the  influence  of  that  unswerving 


■\ 


THE  YEMASSEE.  171 

;  glance,  to  descend  even  into  the  jaws  which  lie  waiting  to 
receive  it.  Providence  in  this  way  has  seemingly  found  it 
necessary  to  clothe  even  with  a  moral  power  the  evanescent 
and  merely  animal  nature  of  its  creation;  and,  with  a  due 
wisdom,  for,  as  the  rattlesnake  is  singularly  slow  in  ita 
general  movements,  it  might  suffer  frequently  from  want  of 
food  unless  some  such  power  had  been  assigned  it.  The 
study  of  all  nature  with  a  little  more  exactitude,  would  per- 
haps discover  to  us  an  enlarged  instinct  in  ever}'  other  form 
of  life,  which  a  narrow  analysis  might  almost  set  down  as  the 
fullest  evidence  of  an  intellectual  existence. 

The  interview  between  Harrison  and  Bess  Matthews  had 
been  especially  arranged  with  reference  to  a  discussion  of 
various  matters,  important  to  both,  and  affecting  the  relations 
which  existed  between  them.  But  it  was  impossible,  in  the 
prostrate  and  nervous  condition  in  which  he  found  her,  that 
much  could  be  thought  or  said  of  other  matters  than  those 
which  had  been  of  the  last  few  moments'  occurrence.  Still 
they  lingered,  and  still  they  strove  to  converse  on  their  affairs ; 
despite  the  presence  of  Occonestoga,  who  sat  patiently  at  the 
foot  of  a  tree  without  show  of  discontent  or  sign  of  hunger, 
though,  for  a  term  of  at  least  eighteen  hours,  he  had  eaten 
nothing.  In  this  lies  one  of  the  chief  merits  of  an  Indian 
warrior — 

"  Severe  the  school  that  made  him  bear 
The  ills  of   life  without  a  tear — 
And  stern  the  doctrine  that  denied 
The  chieftain  fame,  the  warrior  pride; 
Who,  urged  by  nature's  wants  expressed 
The  need  that  hungered  in  his  breast — 
Or,  when  beneath  his  foeman's  knife, 
Who   uttered  recreant  prayer  for   life — ■ 
Or,  in  the  chase,  whose  strength  was  spent, 
Or  in  the  fight  whose  knee  was  bent, 
Or,   when   with   tale   of  coming  fight 
Who  sought  his  allies'  lodge  by  night, 
And  ere  his   missives  well  were  told, 
Complained  of  hunger,  wet,  and  cold. 
A  woman,  if  in  fight  his  foe, 
Could  give,  yet  not  receive  the  blow — 
Or,  if  undext'rously  and  dull, 

His  hand  and  knife  had  failed  to  win 
The  dripping,  warm  scalp  from  the  scull 
To  trim  his  yellow  moccasin." 


172  THE  YEMASSEE. 

Thus,  a  perfect  embodiment  of  the  character,  so  wrought 
and  so  described,  Occonestoga,  calm,  sullen,  and  stern,  sat 
beneath  the  tree,  without  look  or  word,  significant  of  that 
fatigue  and  hunger  under  which  he  must  have  been  seriously 
suffering.  He  surveyed,  with  something  like  scorn,  those 
evidences  between  the  lovers  of  that  nice  and  delicate  affection 
which  belongs  only  to  the  highest  forms  of  civilization.  At 
length,  bidding  him  wait  his  return,  Harrison  took  the  way 
with  Bess,  who  was  now  sufficiently  restored  for  the  effort, 
to  the  cottage  of  her  father.  It  was  not  long  before  he  re- 
turned to  the  savage,  whose  hand  he  again  shook  cordially 
and  affectionately,  while  repeating  his  grateful  promise  of 
reward.  Then,  turning  to  a  subject  at  that  time  strongly 
present  in  his  mind,  he  inquired  into  the  recent  demonstra- 
tions of  his  people. 

"  Occonestoga,  what  news  is  this  of  the  Yemassee  ?  He  is 
angry,  is  he  not  ?  " 

"  Angry  to  kill,  Harrison.  Is  not  the  scout  on  the  path  of 
Occonestoga — Occonestoga,  the  son  of  Sanutee? — look!  the 
tomahawk  of  Sanutee  shook  in  the  eyes  of  Occonestoga. — The 
swift  foot,  the  close  bush,  the  thick  swamp  and  the  water — 
they  were  the  friends  of  Occonestoga.  Occonestoga  is  a  dog. 
— The  scouts  of  Yemassee  look  for  him  in  the  swamps." 

"  You  must  be  hungry  and  weary,  Occonestoga.  Come  with 
me  to  the  Block  House,  where  there  are  meat  and  drink/' 

"  Harrison  is  friend  to  Occonestoga  ?  " 

"  Surely  I  am,"  was  the  reply. 

"  The  good  friend  will  kill  Occonestoga?  "  was  the  demand, 
uttered  in  tones  of  more  solicitude  than  is  common  to  the 
Indian. 

"  Kill  you  ?  no  !  why  should  I  kill  you  ?  " 

"It  is  good  !  knife  Occonestoga,  Englishman;  put  the  sharp 
tooth  here,,  in  his  heart,  for  the  father  of  Occonestoga  has  a 
curse  for  his  head !  Sanutee  has  sworn  him  to  Opitchi-Man- 
neyto !  will  not  the  chief  of  the  English  put  the  sharp  knife 
here?"  The  entreaty  was  earnestly  made.  The  uttermost 
depths  of  despair  seemed  to  have  been  sounded  by  the  outcast. 

"  No,  Occonestoga,  no.  I  will  do  no  such  thing.  Thou 
shalt  live  and  do  well,  and  be  at  friendship  with  thy  father 
and  thy  people.     Come  with  me  to  the  Block  House  and  get 


THE  YEMASSEE.  173 

something  to  eat.  We  will  talk  over  this  affair  of  thy  people. 
Come  with  me,  young  chief,  all  will  be  right  ere  many  days. 
Come ! " 

The  melancholy  savage  rose,  passively  resigned  to  any  will, 
having  none  of  his  own.  In  silence  he  followed  his  conductor 
to  the  Block  House,  where,  under  the  instructions  of  Harri- 
son, Granger  and  his  wife  received  him  with  the  kindliest 
solicitude. 


-•-  . ». 


174  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTEE  XXII. 

The  wife  of  Granger  soon  provided  refreshments  for  the 
young  savage,  of  which  he  ate  sparingly,  and  without  much 
seeming  consciousness  of  what  he  was  doing.  Harrison  did 
not  trouble  him  much  with  remark  or  inquiry,  but  busied 
himself  in  looking  after  the  preparations  for  the  defence  of 
the  building.  lor  this  purpose,  Hector  and  himself  occupied 
an  hour  in  the  apartment  adjoining  that  in  which  the  house- 
hold concerns  of  Granger  were  carried  on.  In  this  apartment 
Hector  kept  Dugdale,  a  famous  bloodhound,  supposed  to 
have  been  brought  from  the  Caribbees,  which,  when  very 
young,  Harrison  had  purchased  from  a  Spanish  trader.  This 
dog  was  of  a  peculiar  breed,  and  resembled  in  some  respects 
the  Irish  wolf-hound,  while  having  all  the  thirst  and  appetite 
for  blood  which  distinguished  the  more  ancient  Slute  01 
Sleuth-hound  of  the  Scots.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that 
the  Spaniards  brought  these  dogs  to  America.  They  found 
them  here,  actually  in  use  by  the  Indians  and  for  like  pur- 
poses, and  only  perfected  their  training,  while  stimulating 
them  in  the  pursuit  of  man.  The  dog  Dugdale  had  been  par- 
tially trained  after  their  fashion  to  hunt  the  Indians,  ana 
even  under  his  present  owner,  it  was  not  deemed  unbecoming 
that  he  should  be  prepared  for  the  purposes  of  war  upon  the 
savages,  by  the  occasional  exhibition  of  a  stuffed  figure,  so 
made  and  painted  as  to  resemble  a  naked  Indian,  around 
whose  neck  a  lump  of  raw  and  bleeding  beef  was  occasionally 
suspended.  This  was  shown  him  while  chained, — from  any 
near  approach  he  was  withheld  until  his  appetite  had  been  so 
wrought  upon  that  longer  restraint  would  have  been  dangerous 
and  impossible.  The  training  of  these  dogs,  as  known  to 
the  early  French  and  Spanish  settlers,  by  both  of  whom  they 
were  in  common  use  for  the  purpose  of  war  with  the  natives, 
is  exceeding  curious;  and  so  fierce  under  this  sort  of  train- 
ing did  they  become  in  process  of  time  that  it  was  found 
necessary  to  restrain  them  in  cages  while  thus  stimulated, 
until  the  call  to  the  field,  and  the  prospect  of  immediate 


THE  YEMASSEE.  175 

•  strife,  should  give  an  opportunity  to  the  exercise  of  their 
■unallayed  rapacity.  In  the  civil  commotions  of  Hayti,*  the 
jnost  formidable  enemies  known  to  the  insurrectionists  were 
the  fierce  dogs  which  had  been  so  educated  by  the  French. 
The  dog  of  Harrison  had  not,  however,  been  greatly  exercised 
by  his  present  owner  after  this  fashion.  He  had  been  simply 
required  to  follow  and  attend  upon  his  master,  under  the 
conduct  of  Hector,  for  both  of  whom  his  attachments  had 
become  singularly  strong.  But  the  early  lessons  of  his  Span- 
ish masters  had  not  been  forgotten  by  Dugdale,  who,  in  the 
war  of  the  Carolinians  with  the  Coosaws,  following  his  master 
into  battle,  proved  an  unlooked-for  auxiliar  of  the  one,  and 
an  enemy  whose  very  appearance  struck  terror  into  the  other. 
So  useful  an  ally  was  not  to  be  neglected,  and  the  stuffed 
figure  which  had  formed  a  part  of  the  property  of  the  animal 
in  the  sale  by  his  Spanish  master,  was  brought  into  occasional 
exercise  and  use,  under  the  charge  of  Hector,  in  confirming 
Dugdale's  warlike  propensities.  In  this  exercise,  with  the 
figure  of  a  naked  Indian  perched  against  one  corner,  and  a 
part  of  a  deer's  entrails  hanging  around  his  neck,  Hector, 
holding  back  the  dog  by  a  stout  rope  drawn  around  a  beam, 
the  better  to  embarrass  him  at  pleasure,  was  stimulating  at 
the  same  time  his  hunger  and  ferocity. 

"  Does  Dugdale  play  to-day,  lienor?  "  inquired  his  master. 

"  He  hab  fine  sperits,  maussa — berry  fine  sperits.  I  kin 
hardly  keep  'em  in.  See  da,  now — "  and,  as  the  slave  spoke, 
the  dog  broke  away,  dragging  the  rope  suddenly  through  the 
hands  of  the  holder,  and,  without  remarking  the  meat,  ran 
crouching  to  the  feet  of  Harrison. 

"  Him  nebber  forgit  you,  maussa,  ebber  since  you  put  your 
hand  down  he  troat." 

Harrison  snapped  his  fingers,  and  motioning  with  his  hand 
to  the  bleeding  entrails  of  the  deer  around  the  neck  of  the 
figure,  the  hound  sprang  furiously  upon  it,  and  dragging  it 
to  the  floor,  planted  himself  across  the  body,  while,  with  his 
formidable  teeth,  he  tore  away  the  bait  from  the  neck  where 
it  was  wound,  lacerating  the  figure  at  every  bite,  in  a  manner 

*  The  war  for  independence  which  began  in  Hayti  in  1791  and 
ended  with  the  struggles  of  Toussaint  l'Ouverture  and  his  suc- 
cessors.     Independence    was    declared    in    1804. 


176  THE  YEMASSEE. 

which  would  have  soon  deprived  the  living  man  of  all  show 
of  life.  Having  given  some  directions  to  the  slave,  Harrison 
returned  to  the  apartment  where  he  had  left  the  Indian. 

Occonestoga  sat  in  a  corner  mournfully  croning  over,  in  an 
uncouth  strain,  something  of  a  song,  rude,  sanguinary,  in  his 
own  wild  language.  Something  of  the  language  was  known 
to  Harrison,  but  not  enough  to  comprehend  the  burden  of 
what  he  sang.  But  the  look  and  the  manner  of  the  savage 
were  so  solemn  and  imposing,  so  strange  yet  so  full  of  digni- 
fied thought,  that  the  Englishman  did  not  venture  to  inter- 
rupt him.  He  turned  to  Granger,  who,  with  his  wife,  was 
partially  employed  in  one  corner  of  the  apartment,  folding  up 
some  of  his  wares  and  burnishing  others. 

"  What  does  he  sing,  Granger  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  trader. 

"His  death  song,  sir.  It  is  something  very  strange — but 
he  has  been  at  it  now  for  some  time ;  and  the  Indian  does  not 
employ  that  song  unless  with  a  near  prospect  of  death.  He 
has  probably  had  some  dream  or  warning,  and  they  are  very 
apt  to  believe  in  such  things." 

"  Indeed  ! — his  death-song — "  murmured  Harrison,  while 
he  listened  attentively  to  the  low  chant  which  the  Indian  still 
kept  up.  At  his  request,  forbearing  his  labour,  Granger  lis- 
tened also,  and  translated  at  intervals  the  purport  of  many 
of  the  stanzas. 

"What  is  the  Seratee,"  in  his  uncouth  lyric,  sang  the 
melancholy  Indian — 

"What  is  the  Seratee?— 
He  is  but  a  dog 
Sneaking  in  the  long  grass — 
I  have  stood  before  him, 
And  he  did  not  look — 
By  his  hair  I  took  him, — 
By  the  single  tuft — 
From  his  head  I  tore  it, 
"With  it  came  the  scalp, — 
On  my  thigh  I  wore  it — 
With   the   chiefs   I   stood, 
And  they  gave  me  honour, 
Made  of  me  a  chief, 
To  the  sun  they  held  me, 
And  aloud  the  prophet 


THE  YEMASSEE.  177 

Bade  me  be  a  chief — 
Chief  of  all  the  Yemassee — 
Feather  chief  and  arrow  chief — 
Chief  of  all  the  Yemassee." 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  uncouth  verse,  he  proceeded  in  a 
different  tone  and  manner,  and  his  present  form  of  speech 
constituted  a  break  or  pause  in  the  song. 

"  That  Opitchi-Manneyto — wherefore  is  he  wroth  with  the 
young  chief  who  went  on  the  war-path  against  the  Seratee? 
He  made  slaves  for  him  from  the  dogs  of  the  long  grass.  Let 
Opitchi-Manneyto  hear.  Oeconestoga  is  a  brave  chief,  he  hath 
struck  his  hatchet  into  the  lodge  of  the  Savannah,  when  there 
was  a  full  sun  in  the  forests/' 

"  Xow,"  said  Granger,  "  he  is  going  to  tell  us  of  another  of 
his  achievements."     Oeconestoga  went  on — 

"  Hear,  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Hear  Oeconestoga  speak — 
Who  of  the  Savannah  stood 
In  the  council,  in  the  fight — 
With  the  gallant  Suwannee? — 
Bravest  he,   of  all  the  brave, 
Like  an  arrow  path  in  fight — 
When  he  came,  his  tomahawk — 
(Hear,    Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Not  a  forked  tongue  is  mine — ) 
Frighted   the   brave   Yemassee — 
Till  Oeconestoga  came — 
Till  Oeconestoga  stood 
Face  to  face  with  Suwannee, 
By  the  old  Satilla  swamp. 
Then  his  eyes  were  in  the  mud — 
With  these  hands  I  tore  away 
The  war  ringlet  from  his  head — 
With   it  came  the   bleeding  scalp — 
Suwannee  is  in  the  mud; 
Frighted  back,  his  warriors  run, 
Left  him  buried  in  the  mud — 
Ho!   the  gray-wolf  speaks  aloud, 
Hear,    Opitchi-Manneyto; 
He  had  plenty  food   that  night, 
And  for  me  he  speaks  aloud — 
Suwannee  is  in  his  jaw — 
Look,    Opitchi-Manneyto — 
See  him  tear  Suwannee's  side, 
See  him  drink  Suwannee's  blood — 


178  THE  YEMASSEE. 

With  his  paw  upon  his  breast, 

Look,  he  pulls  the  heart  away, 

And  his  nose  is  searching  deep, 

Clammy,  thick  with  bloody  drink, 

In  the  hollow  where  it  lay. 

Look,  Opitchi-Manneyto, 

Look,  the  grey-wolf  speaks  for  me." 

Then  after  this  wild  and  barbarous  chant,  which,  verse 
after  verse,  Granger  rendered  to  Harrison,  a  pause  of  a  few 
moments  was  suffered  to  succeed,  in  which,  all  the  while  in 
the  profoundest  silence,  the  young  warrior  continued  to  wave 
his  head  backwards  and  forwards  at  regular  intervals. 

"  He  has  had  a  warning  certainly,  captain ;  I  have  seen 
them  frequently  go  on  so.     Now,  he  begins  again." 

Not  singing,  but  again  addressing  the  evil  deity,  Occones- 
toga  began  with  the  usual  adjuration. 

"  Arrows  and  feathers,  burnt  arrows  and  feathers — a  bright 
flame  for  thee,  Opitchi-Manneyto.  Look  not  dark  upon  the 
young  brave  of  Yemassee.  Hear  his  song  of  the  war  path  and 
the  victory." 

This  said,  he  resumed  the  chant  in  a  burden  of  less  personal, 
and  more  national  character,  a  more  sounding  and  elevated 
strain,  and  which,  in  the  translation  of  Granger,  necessarily 
lost  much  of  its  native  sublimity. 

"  Mighty  is  the  Yemassee, 
Strong  in  the  trial, 
Fearless    in   the   strife, 
Terrible  in  wrath — 
Look,    Opitchi-Manneyto — 
He  is  like  the  rush  of  clouds, 
He  is  like  the  storm  by  night, 
When  the  tree-top  bends  and  shivers, 
When  the   lodge  goes  down. 
The  Westo  and  the  Edisto, 
What  are  they  to  him? — 
Like  the  brown  leaves  to  the  cold, 
Look,   they   shrink   before  his  touch, 
Shrink  and  shiver  as  he  comes — 
Mighty  is  the  Yemassee." 

Harrison  now  ventured  to  interrupt  the  enthusiastic  but 
still  sullen  warrior.    He  interrupted  him  with  a  compliment, 


THE  YEMASSEE.  179 

confirming  that  which  he  had  himself  been  uttering,  to  the 
prowess  of  his  nation. 

"  That  is  a  true  song,  Occonestoga — that  in  praise  of  your 
nation.  They  are  indeed  a  brave  people;  but  I  fear  under 
wild  management  now.  But  come — here  is  some  drink,  it 
will  strengthen  you." 

"It  is  good,"  said  he,  drinking,  "it  is  good— good  for 
strength.    The  English  is  a  friend  to  Occonestoga." 

"  We  have  always  tried  to  be  so,  Occonestoga,  as  you  should 
know  by  this  time.  But  speak  to  me  of  Pocota-ligo.  What 
have  the  people  been  doing  there  ?  What  maddens  them,  and 
wherefore  should  they  grow  angry  with  their  English 
brothers  ?  " 

"The  Yemassee  is  like  the  wolf— he  smells  blood  on  the 
track  of  the  hunter,  when  the  young  cub  is  carried  away.  He 
is  blind,  like  the  rattlesnake,  with  the  poison  of  the  long 
sleep,  when  he  first  comes  out  in  the  time  of  the  green  corn. 
He  wants  blood  to  drink — he  would  strike  the  enemy." 

"  I  see.  The  Yemassees  are  impatient-  of  peace.  They 
would  go  upon  the  war-path,  and  strike  the  English  as  their 
enemies.     Is  this  what  you  think,  Occonestoga?" 

"  Harrison  speaks !  The  English  is  a  friend  to  Yemassee, 
but  Yemassee  will  not  hear  the  word  of  Occonestoga.  Sanutee 
says  the  tongue  of  Occonestoga  has  a  fork — he  speaks  in  two 
voices." 

"  They  are  mad,  young  brave — but  not  so  mad,  I  think,  as 
to  go  on  the  war-path  without  an  object.  At  this  moment 
they  could  not  hope  to  be  successful,  and  would  find  it 
destructive." 

"  The  thought  of  Occonestoga  is  here.  They  will  go  on 
the  war-path  against  the  English." 

"  Ha ! — If  you  think  so,  Occonestoga,  you  must  be  our 
friend." 

"  Cha !  Cha !  Occonestoga  is  too  much  friend  to  the 
English." 

"  Xot  too  much,  not  too  much — not  more  than  they  will 
reward  you  for." 

"  Will  the  strong  water  of  the  English  make  Occonestoga 
to  be  the  son  of  Sanutee?  Will  the  meat  carry  Occonestoga 
to  the  young  braves  of  the  Yemassee?     Will  they  sleep  till 


180  THE  YEMASSEE. 

he  speaks  for  them  to  wake  ?  Look,  Harrison,  the  death-song 
is  made  for  Occonestoga." 

"  Not  so — there  is  no  cause  yet  for  you  to  sing  the  death- 
song  of  the  young  warrior." 

"  Occonestoga  has  said ! — he  has  seen — it  came  to  him 
when  he  ate  meat  from  the  hands  of  the  trader/' 

"  Ah !  that  is  all  owing  to  your  fatigue  and  hunger,  Occon- 
estoga. You  have  long  years  of  life  before  you,  and  still  have 
some  service  to  perform  for  your  friends,  the  English.  You 
must  find  out  for  us  certainly  whether  your  people  mean  to 
go  on  the  war-path  or  not — where  they  will  strike  first,  and 
when  and  above  all,  whether  any  other  tribes  join  with  them. 
You  must  go  for  us  back  to  Pocota-ligo.  You  must  watch  the 
steps  of  the  chiefs,  and  bring  word  of  what  they  intend." 

An  overpowering  sense  of  his  own  shame  as  he  listened  to 
this  requisition  of  Harrison,  forced  his  head  down  upon  his 
bosom,  while  the  gloom  grew  darker  upon  his  face.  At  length 
he  exclaimed — 

"  It  is  no  good  talk :  must  Occonestoga  be  a  dog  for  the 
English?     The  tomahawk  of  Sanutee  is  good  for  a  dog." 

"  Wherefore  this,  young  chief  of  the  Yemassee  ? — What 
mean  you  by  this  speech  ?  " 

a  Young  chief  of  Yemassee ! "  exclaimed  the  savage,  re- 
peating the  phrase  of  Harrison  as  if  in  derision — "  said  you 
not  the  young  chief  of  Yemassee  should  hunt  his  people  like 
a  dog  in  the  cover  of  the  bush  ?  " 

"  Not  like  a  dog,  Occonestoga,  but  like  a  good  friend,  as 
well  to  the  English  as  to  the  Yemassee.  Is  not  peace  good 
for  both?  It  is  peace,  not  war,  that  the  English  desire;  but 
if  there  be  war,  Occonestoga,  they  will  take  all  the  scalps  of 
your  nation." 

"  The  English  must  look  to  his  own  scalp,"  cried  the 
young  man,  fiercely, — "  the  hand  of  the  Yemassee  is  ready; — " 
and  as  he  spoke,  for  a  moment  his  eye  lightened  up,  and  his 
form  rose  erect  from  the  place  where  he  had  been  sitting, 
while  a  strong  feeling  of  nationality  in  his  bosom  aroused 
him  into  something  like  the  warlike  show  of  an  eloquent 
chief  inspiriting  his  tribe  for  the  fight.  But  Granger,  who 
had  been  watchful,  came  forward  with  a  cup  of  spirits,  which, 
without  a  word,  he  now  handed  him.     The  youth  seized  it 


THE  YEMASSEE.  181 

hurriedly,  drank  it  off  at  a  single  effort,  and,  in  that  act,  the 
momentary  enthusiasm  which  had  lightened  up,  with  a  show 
of  still  surviving  consciousness  and  soul,  the  otherwise 
desponding  and  degraded  features,  passed  away;  and  sinking 
again  into  his  seat,  he  replied  to  the  other  portion  of  the 
remark  of  Harrison: 

"It  is  good,  what  the  English  speaks.  Peace  is  good— peace 
for  the  Yemassee— peace  for  the  English— peace— peace  for 
Occonestoga — Occonestoga  speaks  for  peace." 

"  Then  let  Occonestoga  do  as  I  wish  him.  Let  him  go  this 
very  night  to  Pocota-ligo.  Let  his  eye  take  the  track  of  the 
chiefs,  and  look  at  their  actions.  Let  him  come  back  to- 
morrow, and  say  all  that  he  has  seen,  and  claim  his  reward 
from  the  English." 

"There  is  death  for  Occonestoga  if  the  Yemassee  scout 
finds  his  track." 

"But  the  young  chief  has  an  eye  like  the  hawk — a  foot  like 
the  sneaking  panther,  and  a  body  limber  as  the  snake.  He 
can  see  his  enemy  afar — he  can  hide  in  the  thick  bush — he 
can  lie  still  under  the  dead  timber  when  the  hunter  steps 
over  it." 

"  And  rise  to  strike  him  in  the  heel  like  the  yellow-belly 
moccasin.  Yes!  The  young  chief  is  a  great  warrior — the 
Seratee  is  a  dog,  the  Savannah  is  a  dog— Look,  his  legs  have 
the  scalp  of  Suwannee  and  Chareco.  Occonestoga  is  a  great 
warrior." 

.  The  vanity  of  the  savage  once  enlisted,  and  his  scruples 
were  soon  overcome.  An  additional  cup  of  spirits  which 
Granger  again  furnished  him,  concluded  the  argument,  and 
he  avowed  himself  ready  for  the  proposed  adventure.  His 
preparations  were  soon  completed,  and  when  the  night  had 
fairly  set  in,  the  fugitive  was  on  the  scent,  and  again  within 
the  boundary  lines  of  his  nation,  and  cautiously  threading 
his  way,  with  all  the  skill  and  cunning  of  an  Indian,  among 
the  paths  of  the  people  whom  he  had  so  grievously  incensed. 
He  knew  the  danger,  but  he  was  vain  of  his  warrior  and 
hunter  skill.      He  did  not  fear  death,  for  it  is  the  habitual 


182  THE  YEMASSEE. 

practice  of  the  Indian's  thought  to  regard  it  as  a  part  of  his 
existence;  and  his  dying  ceremonies  form  no  inconsiderable 
part  of  the  legacy  of  renown  which  is  left  to  his  children. 
But  had  he  known  the  doom  which  had  been  pronounced 
against  him,  along  with  the  other  chiefs,  and  which  had  been 
already  executed  upon  them  by  the  infuriated  people,  he  had 
never  ventured  for  an  instant  upon  so  dangerous  a  com- 
mission. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  183 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

Half  conscious  only  of  his  design  at  starting,  the  young 
and  profligate  savage,  on  crossing  to  the  opposite  shore,  which 
he  did  just  at  the  Block  House,  grew  more  sensible,  not  only 
in  reference  to  the  object  of  his  journey,  but  to  the  dangers 
which  necessarily  came  along  with  it.  Utterly  ignorant,  as 
yet,  of  that  peculiar  and  unusual  doom  which  had  been  pro- 
nounced against  himself  and  the  other  chiefs,  and  already 
executed  upon  them,  he  had  yet  sufficient  reason  to  apprehend 
that,  if  taken,  his  punishment,  death  probably,  would  be 
severe  enough.  Apprehending  this  probability,  the  fear  which 
it  inspired  was  not  however  sufficient  to  discourage  him  from 
an  adventure  which,  though  pledged  for  its  performance  in 
a  moment  of  partial  inebriation,  was  yet  held  by  the  simple 
Indian  to  be  all-binding  upon  him.  Firmly  resolved,  there- 
fore, upon  the  fulfilment  of  his  promise  to  Harrison,  who, 
with  Granger  and  others,  had  often  before  employed  him, 
though  on  less  dangerous  missions,  he  went  forward,  prepar- 
ing to  watch  the  progress  of  events  among  the  Yemassees,  and 
to  report  duly  the  nature  of  their  warlike  proceedings. 

The  aim  of  Harrison  was  preparation,  and  the  purpose  was 
therefore  of  the  highest  importance  upon  which  Occonestoga 
had  been  sent.  The  generally  exposed  situation  of  the  whole 
frontier  occupied  by  the  whites,  with  the  delay  and  difficult}' 
of  warlike  preparation,  rendered  every  precautionary  measure 
essential  on  the  part  of  the  Carolinians.  For  this  reason,  a 
due  and  proper  intelligence  of  the  means,  designs,  and 
strength  of  their  adversaries,  became  absolutely  necessary, 
particularly  as  the  capricious  nature  of  savage  affections 
makes  it  doubtful  whether  they  can,  for  any  length  of  time, 
continue  in  peace  and  friendship.  How  far  Occonestoga  may 
stand  excused  for  the  part  which  he  had  taken  against  his 
countrymen,  whatever  may  have  been  the  character  of  their 
cause,  is  a  question  not  necessary  for  our  consideration  here. 
It  is  certain  that  the  degradation  consequent  upon  his  intem- 
perance, had  greatly  contributed  towards  blunting  that  feel- 


184  THE  YEMASSEE. 

ing  of 'nationality,  which  is  no  small  part  of  the  honest  boast 
of  every  Indian  warrior. 

Night  had  fairly  shrouded  the  forest  when  the  young  chief 
commenced  his  journey.  But  he  knew  the  path,  by  night  as 
by  day,  with  a  familiarity  begun  in  childhood.  His  ear,  quick, 
keen,  and  discriminating  by  his  education,  could  distinguish 
between  and  identify  the  movement  of  every  native  of  the 
woodland  cover.  He  knew  the  slight  and  hurried  rustle  of 
the  black  snake,  from  the  slow,  dignified  sweep  of  the  rattle; 
and,  drunk  or  sober,  the  bear  in  the  thicket,  or  the  buck 
bounding  along  the  dry  pine-land  ridge,  were  never  mistaken, 
one  for  the  other,  by  our  forest  warrior.  These,  as  they  sever- 
ally crossed  or  lay  in  his  path — for  the  rattlesnake  moves  at 
his  own  pleasure — he  drove  aside  or  avoided;  and  when  con- 
tradictory sounds  met  his  ear,  doubtful  in  character  or  signifi- 
cant of  some  dangerous  proximity,  then  would  the  warrior 
sink  down  into  the  bush  or  under  the  cover  of  the  fallen 
tree,  or  steal  away  into  the  sheltering  shadow  of  the  neigh- 
bouring copse,  without  so  much  as  a  breath  or  whisper.  Such 
precautions  as  these  became  more  and  more  necessary  as  he 
drew  nigher  to  the  homestead  of  his  people.  The  traces  of 
their  presence  thickened  momently  around  him.  Now  the 
torch  flared  across  his  eye,  and  now  the  hum  of  voices  came 
with  the  sudden  gust;  and,  more  than  once,  moving  swiftly 
across  his  path,  stole  along  a  dusky  figure  like  his  own,  bent 
upon  some  secret  quest,  and  watchful  like  himself  to  avoid 
discovery.  He  too,  perhaps,  had  been  dimly  seen  in  the  same 
manner — not  his  features,  for  none  in  that  depth  of  shadow 
in  which  he  crept  could  well  have  made  them  out;  but  such 
partial  glances,  though  he  strove  to  avoid  all  observation,  he 
did  not  so  much  heed,  as  he  well  knew  that  the  thought  of 
others,  seeing  him,  without  ascertaining  who  he  was,  would 
be  apt  to  assign  him  a  like  pursuit  with  their  own;  possibly, 
the  nocturnal  amour;  pursued  by  the  Yemassees  with  a  fas- 
tidious regard  to  secrecy,  not  because  of  any  moral  reserve, 
but  that  such  a  pursuit  savours  of  a  weakness  unbecoming 
to  manhood. 

On  a  sudden  he  drew  back  from  the  way  he  was  pursuing, 
and  sank  under  the  cover  of  a  gigantic  oak.  A  torch  flamed 
across  the  path,  and  a  dusky  maiden  carried  it,  followed  by 


THE  YEMASSEE.  185 

a  young  warrior.  They  passed  directly  beside  the  tree  behind 
which  Occonestoga  had  sought  for  shelter,  and,  at  the  first 
glance,  he  knew  Hiwassee,  the  young  maiden  who  was  to  have 
filled  his  own  lodge,  according  to  the  expectations  of  the 
people.  But  he  had  lost  sight  of,  and  forgotten  her  in  the 
practices  which  had  weaned  him  from  his  brethren  and  bound 
him  to  the  whites.  What  were  the  affections  now  to  him? 
Yet  he  had  regarded  her  with  favour,  and  though  he  had 
never  formally  proposed  to  break  with  her  the  sacred  wand 
of  Checkamoysee,*  which  was  to  give  her  the  title  to  his 
dwelling  and  make  her  his  wife,  yet  such  had  been  the  expec- 
tation of  his  mother,  her  wish,  and  perhaps  that  of  the 
damsel  herself.  He  remembered  this  with  a  sad  sinking  of 
the  heart.  He  remembered  what  he  had  been,  what  were  his 
hopes  and  pride;  what  had^been  the  expectations,  in  regard 
to  him,  of  his  parents  and  his  people.  It  was  with  a  bitter 
feeling  of  disappointment  and  self-reproach,  that  he  heard 
the  proposition  of  love  as  it  was  made  to  her  by  another. 

"  It  is  a  brave  chief,  Hiwassee — a  brave  chief  that  would 
have  you  enter  his  lodge.  The  lodge  of  Echotee  is  ready  for 
Hiwassee.  Look !  this  is  the  stick  of  Checkamoysee ;  break 
it,  take  it  in  thy  hands  and  break  it,  Hiwassee,  and  Echotee 
will  quench  the  torch  which  thou  bearest  in  the  running 
water.  Then  shalt  thou  be  the  wife  of  a  warrior,  and  the 
venison  shall  always  be  full  in  thy  lodge.  Break  the  stick  of 
Checkamoysee,  Hiwassee,  and  be  the  wife  of  Echotee." 

And  the  dusky  maiden  needed  little  wooing.  She  broke 
the  stick,  and  as  she  did  so,  seizing  the  blazing  torch  with  a 
ready  hand,  Echotee  hurried  with  it  to  a  brook  that  trickled 
along  at  a  little  distance,  and  in  the  next  instant  it  hissed  in 
the  water,  and  all  was  darkness.  "Without  regarding  what  he 
was  doing,  or  thinking  of  his  own' risk,  Occonestoga,  in  the 
absence  of  her  accepted  lover,  could  not  forbear  a  word,  some- 
thing of  reproach,  perhaps,  in  the  ear  of  Hiwassee.  She  stood 
but  a  few  paces  off,  under  the  shadow  and  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  same  tree  which  gave  him  shelter ;  with  the  broken 
stick  still  in  her  hand  in  attestation  of  her  wild  forest  nuptial. 
What  he  said  was  unheard  save  by  herself,  but  she  screamed 

*  Checkamoysee,   the   Yemassee    Hymen    [Simms's   Note]. 


186  THE  YEMASSEE. 

as  she  heard  it;  and,  hearing  her  lover  approach,  and  now 
duly  conscious  of  his  error,  Occonestoga,  in  the  next  moment, 
had  darted  away  from  the  place  of  their  tryst,  and  was  pur- 
suing his  route  with  all  the  vigour  of  a  renewed  and  resolute 
spirit.  The  sense  of  what  he  had  lost  for  ever,  seemed  to 
sting  him  into  a  sort  of  despairing  energy  which  hurried  him 
recklessly  onward. 

At  length  he  approached  the  town  of  Pocota-ligo,  but,  at 
first,  carefully  avoiding  its  main  entrance,  which  was  upon 
the  river — particularly  as  the  throng  of  sounds  reaching  his 
ears  from  that  quarter  indicated  a  still  active  stir — he  shot 
off  circuitously  into  the  thicker  woods,  so  as  to  come  into 
the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  his  father's  dwelling.  From 
a  neighbouring  thicket,  after  a  little  while,  he  looked  down 
upon  the  cabin  which  had  given  a  birth-place  and  shelter  to 
his  infancy;  and  the  feeling  of  shame  grew  strong  in  his 
bosom  as  he  thought  upon  the  hopes  defeated  of  his  high- 
souled  father,  and  of  the  affections  thrown  away  of  the  gentle 
mother,  with  whom,  however  mortified  and  fruitless,  they 
still  continued  to  flourish  for  the  outcast.  Such  thoughts, 
however,  were  not  permitted  to  trouble  him  long;  for,  as  he 
looked  he  beheld  by  the  ruddy  blaze  of  the  pine  torch  which 
the  boy  carried  before  him,  the  person  of  his  father  emerge 
from  the  lodge,  and  take  the  well-known  pathway  leading  to 
Pocota-ligo.  If  Occonestoga  had  no  other  virtue,  that  of  love 
for  his  mother  was,  to  a  certain  extent,  sufficiently  redeem- 
ing. His  previous  thoughts,  his  natural  feeling,  prepared  him, 
whatever  the  risk,  to  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity  thus 
offered  him.  In  another  instant,  and  the  half  penitent  prodi- 
gal stood  in  the  presence  of  Matiwan. 

"  Oh,  boy — Occonestoga — thou  art  come — thou  art  corne^ 
Thou  art  not  yet  lost  to  Matiwan." 

And  she  threw  herself,  with  the  exclamation,  fondly,  though 
but  for  a  moment,  upon  his  neck;  the  next,  recovering  her- 
self, she  spoke  in  hurried  tones,  full  of  grief  and  apprehen- 
sion. 

"  Thou  shouldst  not  come  !— fly,  boy — fly,  Occonestoga — 
be  a  swift  bird,  that  the  night  has  overtaken  far  away  from 
his  bush.  There  is  danger — there  is  death — not  death — 
there  is  a  curse  for  thee  from  Opitchi-Manneyto." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  187 

"  Let  not  the  grief  stand  in  the  eye  of  Matiwan.  Oecones- 
toga  fears  not  death.  He  has  a  song  for  the  Manneyto  of 
the  blessed  valley;  the  great  warriors  shall  clap  their  hands 
and  cry  '  Sangarrah-me,  Sangarrah-me,  Yemassee,'  when  they 
hear.     Let  not  the  grief  stand  in  the  eye  of  Matiwan." 

"  It  is  for  thee,  for  thee,  boy— for  thee,  Occonestoga.  The 
sorrow  of  Matiwan  is  for  thee.  Thou  hast  been  in  this  bosom, 
Occonestoga,  and  thine  eyes  opened  first,  when  the  green  was 
on  the  young  leaf  and  the  yellow  flower  was  hanging  over  the 
lodge  in  the  strength  of  the  sun/' 

•k  Know  I  not  the  song  of  Enoree-Mattee,  when  the  eyes  of 
Occonestoga  looked  up  ?  Said  he  not— under  the  green  leaf, 
under  the  yellow  flower,  the  brave  comes  who  shall  have 
arrows  with  wings  and  a  knife  that  has  eyes?    Occonestoga  is 

here ! " 

"  Matiwan  was  glad.  Sanutee  lifted  thee  to  the  sun,  boy, 
and  begged  for  thee  his  beams  from  the  good  Manneyto.  The 
gladness  is  gone,  Occonestoga — gone  from  Sanutee,  gone  from 
Matiwan, — gone  with  thee.  There  is  no  green  on  the  leaf— 
my  eyes  look  upon  the  yellow  flowers  no  longer.  Occonestoga, 
it  is  thou,—  thou  hast  taken  all  this  light  from  the  eye  of 
Matiwan.     The  gladness  and  the  light  are  gone." 

"  Matiwan  tells  'no  lie— this  dog  is  Occonestoga." 

Thus  he  began,  sinking  back  into  the  humiliating  conscious- 
ness of  his  shame  and  degradation.  But  the  gentle  parent, 
tender  even  in  the  utterance  of  the  truth,  fearing  she  had 
gone  too  far,  hastily  and  almost  indignantly  interrupted  him 
in  the  melancholy  self-condemnation  he  was  uttering. 

«Xo,  no — Occonestoga  is  no  dog.  He  is  a  brave — he  is 
the  son  of  Sanutee,  the  well-beloved  of  the  Yemassee.  Occo- 
nestoga has  shut  his  eyes  and  gone  upon  the  track  of  a  foolish 
dream,  but  he  will  wake  with  the  sun,— and  Matiwan  will 
see  the  green  leaf  and  the  yellow  flower  still  hanging  over  the 
lodge  of  Sanutee ;  "  and  as  "she  spoke  she  threw  her  arms  about 
him  affectionately,  while  the  tears  came  to  the  relief  of  her 
heart  and  flowed  freely  down  her  cheeks.  The  youth  gently 
but  coldly  disengaged  her  clasp,  and  proceeded  to  seat  him- 
self upon  the  broad  skin  lying  upon  the  floor  of  the  cabin; 
when,  aroused  by  the  movement,  and  with  a  return  of  all  her 
old  apprehensions,  she  thrust  him  from  it  with  an  air  of 


188  THE  YEMASSEE. 

anxiety,  if  not  of  horror,  and  shutting  her  eyes  upon  the 
wondering  and  somewhat  indignant  glance  with  which  he  now 
surveyed  her,  she  exclaimed  passionately — 

"  Go — fly — wherefore  art  thou  here — here  in  the  lodge  of 
Sanutee — thou,  the  accursed — the — "  and  the  words  stuck  in 
her  throat,  and,  unarticulated,  came  forth  chokingly. 

"  Is  Matiwan  mad — has  the  fever-pain  gone  into  her 
temples?"  he  asked  in  astonishmeat. 

"  No,  no,  no — not  mad,  Occonestoga.  But  thou  art 
cast  out  from  the  Yemassee.  He  does  not  know  thee — the 
young  warriors  know  thee  not — the  chiefs  know  thee  not — 
Manneyto  denies  thee.  They  have  said — thou  art  a  Yemassee 
no  longer.    They  have  cast  thee  out/' 

"  The  Yemassee  is  great,  but  he  cannot  deny  Occonestoga. 
Thou  art  mad,  Matiwan.  Look,  woman,  here  is  the  broad 
arrow  of  Yemassee  upon  the  shoulder  of  a  chief." 

"  It  is  gone — it  is  gone  from  thee,  Occonestoga.  They  have 
sworn  by  Opitchi-Manneyto,  that  Malatchie,  the  Clublifter, 
shall  take  it  from  thy  shoulder." 

The  youth  shrunk  back,  and  his  eyes  started  in  horror, 
while  his  limbs  trembled  with  a  sentiment  of  fear  not  often 
felt  by  an  Indian  warrior.  In  another  instant,  however,  he 
recovered  from  the  stupor  if  not  from  the  dread,  which  her 
intelligence  occasioned. 

"  Ha,  Matiwan,  thou  hast  no  fork  in  thy  tongue.  Thou 
speakest  not  to  me  with  the  voice  of  the  Coonee-latee." 

"  Opitchi-Manneyto ! — he  hears  the  voice  of  Matiwan.  The 
Yemassee  has  doomed  thee." 

"  They  dare  not — they  will  not.  I  will  go  with  them  upon 
the  war-path  against  the  Santee  and  the  Seratee.  I  will  take 
up  the  hatchet  against  the  English.  I  will  lead  the  young 
warriors  to  battle.    They  shall  know  Occonestoga  for  a  chief." 

"  Thou  canst  not,  boy.  They  do  not  trust  thee — they  have 
doomed  thee  with  the  chiefs  who  sold  the  land  to  the  English. 
Has  not  Malatchie  cut  with  the  knife,  and  burnt  away  with 
fire  from  their  shoulders,  the  sacred  and  broad  arrow  of 
Yemassee,  so  that  we  know  them  no  more? — Their  fathers, 
and  their  sons  know  them  no  more — the  mothers  that  bore 
them  know  them  no  more — the  other  nations  know  them  no 
more — they  cannot  enter  the  blessed  valley  of  Manneyto,  for 


THE  YEMASSEE.  189 

Manneyto  knows  them  not  when  he  looks  for  the  broad  arrow 
of  Yemassee,  and  finds  it  not  upon  their  shoulders." 

"  AYoman !  thou  liest ! — thou  art  hissing  lies  in  my  ears, 
like  the  green  snake,  with  a  forked  tongue.  The  Yemassee 
has  not  done  this  thing  as  thou  say'st." 

The  voice  of  the  woman  sank  into  a  low  and  husky  mur- 
mur, and  the  always  melancholy  tones  of  the  language  of  the 
red  man,  grew  doubly  so  in  her  utterance,  as  she  replied  in  a 
stern  rebuke,  though  her  attitude  and  manner  were  now 
entirely  passionless : — 

"  When  has  Matiwan  lied  to  Occonestoga  ?  Occonestoga  is 
a  dog  when  he  speaks  of  Matiwan  as  the  forked  tongue." 

"  He  is  a  dog  if  thou  has  not  lied,  Matiwan.  Say  that  thou 
hast  lied — that  thou  hast  said  a  foolish  thing  to  Occonestoga. 
Say,  Matiwan,  and  the  young  arrow  will  be  in  thy  hand  even 
as  the  long  shoots  of  the  tree  that  weeps.  Thou  shalt  make 
him  what  thou  wilt." 

With  an  expression  the  most  humbled  and  imploring,  and 
something  more  of  warmth  than  is  usually  shown  by  the 
Indian  warrior,  the  young  chief  took  the  hand  of  his  mother, 
while  uttering  an  appeal,  virtually  apologizing  for  the  harsh 
language  he  had  previously  made  use  of.  With  the  pause  of 
an  instant,  and  a  passionate  melancholy,  almost  amounting 
to  the  vehemence  of  despair,  she  replied : — 

"  Matiwan  does  not  lie.  The  Yemassee  has  said  the  doom, 
which  Enoree-Mattee,  the  prophet,  brought  from  Opitchi- 
Manneyto.  Has  not  Malatchie  cut  from  the  shoulders  of  the 
chiefs  and  burnt  away  with  fire  the  broad  arrow,  so  that  never 
more  may  they  be  known  by  the  Yemassee — never  more  by 
the  Manneyto !  The  doom  is  for  thee,  Occonestoga.  It  is 
true.  There  is  no  fork  in  the  tongue  of  Matiwan.  Fly,  boy — 
fly,  Occonestoga.  It  is  thy  mother,  it  is  Matiwan  that  prays 
thee  to  fly.  Matiwan  would  not  lose  thee,  Occonestoga,  from 
the  happy  valley.  Be  the  swift  arrow  on  the  path  of  flight — 
let  them  not  see  thee — let  them  not  give  thee  to  Malatchie." 

Thus,  passionately  imploring  him,  the  mother  urged  upon 
him  the  necessity  of  flight.  But,  for  a  few  minutes,  as  if 
stunned  by  the  intelligence  which  he  could  not  now  disbelieve, 
the  young  warrior  stood  in  silence,  with  clown-bending  head, 
the  very  personification  of  despair.     Then,  quickly  and  fully 


190  THE  YEMASSEE. 

recovering,  with  a  kindling  eye,  and  a  manner  well  correspond- 
ing with  his  language,  he  started  forward,  erectly,  in  his 
fullest  height,  and  with  the  action  of  a  strong  mood,  for  a 
moment  assumed  the  attitude  of  that  true  dignity,  from 
which,  in  his  latter  days  and  habits,  he  had  but  too  much 
and  too  often  departed. 

66  Ha !  Is  Occonestoga  an  arrow  that  is  broken  ?  Is  he  the 
old  tree  across  the  swamp,  that  the  dog's  foot  runs  over? 
Has  he  no  strength — has  the  blood  gone  out  of  his  heart? 
Has  he  no  knife — where  are  the  arrow  and  the  tomahawk? 
They  are  here — I  have  them.  The  Yemassee  shall  not  hold 
me  down  when  I  sleep.  Occonestoga  sleeps  not.  He  will  do 
battle  against  the  Yemassee.  His  knife  shall  strike  at  the 
breast  of  Sanutee." 

"  Thou  hast  said  a  folly,  boy — Occonestoga,  wouldst  thou 
strike  at  thy  father  ?  "  said  the  mother,  sternly. 

"  His  hatchet  shook  over  the  head  of  Occonestoga  in  the 
lodge  of  council.  He  is  the  enemy  of  Occonestoga — a  bad 
thorn  in  the  path,  ready  for  the  foot  that  flies.  I  will  slay 
him  like  a  dog.  He  shall  hear  the  scalp-song  of  Occonestoga — 
I  will  sing  it  in  his  ears,  woman,  like  a  bird  that  comes  with 
the  storm,  while  I  send  the  long  knife  into  his  heart;"  and 
fierce]}7,  as  he  concluded  this  speech,  he  chanted  a  passage  of 
the  famous  scalp-song  of  the  Yemassee — 

"  I   go   with    the   long   knife, 
On  the  path  of  my  enemy — 
In  the  cover  of  the  brake, 
With  the  tooth  of  the  war-rattle, 
I  strike  the  death  into  his  heel — 
Sangarrah-me,    Sangarrah-me. 
I  hear  him  groan,  I  see  him  gasp, 
I   tear   his   throat,   I   drink   his   blood, 
He  sings  the  song  of  his  dying, 
To   the  glory  of  Occonestoga." 

"  Ha !  thou  hearest,  Matiwan — this  will  I  sing  for  Sanutee 
when  my  knee  is  upon  his  breast,  when  my  knife  is  thick  in 
his  heart,  when  I  tear  the  thin  scalp  from  his  forehead." 

Thus,  in  a  deep,  fiercely  impressive,  but  low  tone,  Occones- 
toga poured  forth  in  his  mother's  ears  the  fulness  of  his 
paroxysm, — in  his  madness  attributing,  and  with  correctness, 


THE  YEMASSEE.  191 

the  doom  which  had  been  pronounced  against  him  as  coming 
from  his  father.  In  that  fierce  and  bitter  moment  he  forgot 
all  the  ties  of  kindred,  and  his  look  was  that  of  the  furious 
and  fearful  savage,  already  imbruing  his  hands  in  parental 
blood  The  horror  of  Matiwan,  beyond  expression,  could  not, 
however,  be  kept  from  utterance: — 

"  Thou  hast  drunk  madness,  boy,  from  the  cup  of  Opitchi- 
Manneyto.  The  devil  of  the  white  man's  prophet  has  gone 
into  thy  heart.  But  thou  art  the  child  of  Matiwan,  and, 
though  "thou  art  in  a  foolish  path,  it  is  thy  mother  that  would 
save  thee.  Go — fly,  Occonestoga— keep  on  thy  shoulder  the 
broad  arrow  of  Yemassee,  so  that  thy  mother  may  not  lose 
thee  from  the  blessed  valley  of  Manneyto." 

Before  the  young  warrior,  somewhat  softened  by  this  speech, 
could  find  words  to  reply  to  it,  his  acute  sense — acute  enough 
at  all  times  to  savour  of  a  supernatural  faculty — detected  an 
approaching  sound;  and,  through  an  opening  of  the  logs  in 
the  dwelling,  the  flare  of  a  torch  was  seen  approaching.  Mati- 
wan,  much  more  apprehensive,  with  her  anxieties  now  turned 
in  a  new  direction,  went  quickly  to  the  entrance,  and  return- 
ing instantly  with  great  alarm,  announced  the  approach  of 
Sanutee. 

"  He  comes  to  the  hatchet  of  Occonestoga,"  cried  the  youth 
fiercely,  his  recent  rage  re-awakening. 

"  Wouldst  thou  slay  Matiwan  ?  "  was  the  reply. — and  the 
look,  the  tone,  the  words  were  sufficient.  The  fierce  spirit 
was  quelled,  and  the  youth  suffered  himself  to  follow  quietly 
as  she  directed.  She  led  him  to  a  remote  corner  of  the  lodge, 
which,  piled  up  with  skins,  furnished  a  fair  chance  and 
promise  of  security.  With  several  of  these,  as  he  stretched 
himself  at  his  length,  she  contrived  to  cover  him  in  such  a 
manner  as  effectually  to  conceal  him  from  the  casual  ob- 
server. Having  so  done,  she  strove  to  resume  her  composure 
in  time  for  the  reception  of  the  old  chief,  whose  torch  now 
blazed  at  the  entrance. 


i'J2  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTEE  XXIV. 

With  a  mind  deeply  taken  up  with  the  concerns  of  state, 
Sanutee  threw  himself  upon  the  bearskin  which  formed  a  sort 
of  carpet  in  the  middle  of  the  lodge,  and  failed  utterly  to 
remark  the  discomposure  of  Matiwan,  which,  otherwise,  to 
the  keen  glance  of  the  Indian,  would  not  have  remained  very 
long  concealed  She  took  her  seat  at  his  head,  and  croned 
low  and  musingly  some  familiar  chant  of  forest  song,  un- 
obtrusively, yet  meant  to  soothe  his  ear.  He  heard — for  this 
had  long  been  a  practice  with  her  and  a  domestic  indulgence 
with  him — he  heard,  but  did  not  seem  to  listen.  His  mind 
was  away — busied  in  the  events  of  the  wild  storm  it  had 
invoked,  and  the  period  of  which  was  rapidly  approaching. 
But  there  were  other  matters  less  important,  that  called  for 
present  attention;  and,  turning  at  length  to  his  wife,  and 
pointing  at  the  same  time  to  the  pile  of  skins  that  lay  con- 
fusedly huddled  up  over  the  crouching  form  of  Occonestoga, 
he  quietly  remarked  upon  their  loose  and  disordered  appear- 
ance. The  well-bred  housewife  of  a  city  might  have  discov- 
ered something  of  rebuke  to  her  domestic  management  in 
what  he  said  on  this  subject;  but  the  mind  of  Matiwan  lost 
all  sight  of  the  reproach,  in  the  apprehensions  which  such  a 
reference  had  excited.  He  saw  not  her  disorder,  however, 
but  proceeded  to  enumerate  to  himself  their  numbers,  sorts, 
and  qualities,  with  a  simple  air  of  business;  until,  suddenly 
labouring,  as  it  appeared,  under  some  deficiency  of  memory, 
he  instructed  her  to  go  and  ascertain  the  number  of  bearskins 
in  the  collection. 

"  The  Spanish  trader  will  buy  from  Sanutee  with  the  next 
sun.    Go,  Matiwan/' 

To  hear  was  to  obey;  and  half  dead  with  fear,  yet  rejoiced 
that  he  had  not  gone  himself,  she  proceeded  to  tumble  about 
the  skins,  with  ready  compliance,  and  an  air  of  industry,  the 
most  praiseworthy  in  an  Indian  woman.  Her  labour  was. 
lengthened,  so  Sanutee  seemed  to  think,  somewhat  beyond  the 
time  necessary  to  enumerate  a  lot  of  skins  not  exceeding  fif- 


THE  YEMASSEE.  193 

teen  or  twenty  in  number,  and  with  some  little  sternness  at 
last  he  demanded  of  her  the  cause  of  the  delay.    Apprehensive 
that  he  would  yet  rise,  and  seek  for  himself  a  solution  of  the 
difficulty,  she  determined,  as  she  had  not  yet  ascertained,  to 
guess  at  the  fact,  and  immediately  replied  in  a  representa- 
tion which  did  not  at'  all  accord  with  the  calculation  of  the 
chief's  own  memory  on  the  subject.    The  impatience  of  Occon- 
estoga,  in  the  meantime,  was  not  less  than  that  of  Sanutee. 
He  worried  his  mother  not  a  little  in  his  restlessness  while  she 
moved  about  him;  and  once,  as  she  bent  over  him,  removing 
this,  and  replacing  that,  he  seized  upon  her  hand,  and  would 
have  spoken,  but  that  so  dangerous  an  experiment  she  would 
not  permit.    But  she  saw  by  his  glance,  and  the  settled  firm- 
ness with  which  he  grasped  his  hatchet,  that  his  thought  was 
that  of  defiance  to  his  father,  and  a  desire  to  throw  aside  the 
restraining  cover  of  the  skins,  and  assert  his  manhood.     She 
drew  away  from  him  rapidly,  with  a  finger  uplifted  as  if  in 
entreatv,  while  with  one  hand  she  threw  over  him  a  huge 
bearskin,  which  nearly  suffocated  him.  and  which  he  immedi- 
ately, in  part,  threw  aside.    Sanutee.  in  the  meantime,  seemed 
very  imperfectly  satisfied  with  the  representation  which  she 
had  made,  and  manifesting  some  doubt  as  to  the  correctness 
of  her  estimate,  he  was  about  to  rise  and  look  for  himself 
into  the  matter.    But,  in  some  trepidation,  the  wary  Matiwan 
prevented  him. 

"  Wherefore  should  the  chief  toil  at  the  task  of  a  woman  ? 
Battle  for  the  chief — wisdom  in  council  for  the  chief;  and 
the  seat  under  the  big  tree,  at  the  head  of  the  lodge,  when  the 
great  chiefs  come  to  eat  meat  from  his  hands.  Sit,  well- 
beloved — wherefore  should  not  Matiwan  look  for  thee  ?  The 
toil  of  the  lodge  is  for  Matiwan." 

"  Sanutee  will  look,  Matiwan— the  bearskin  is  heavy  on 
thy  hands,"  was  the  considerate  reply. 

"Go  not,  look  not—"  impatiently,  rather  too  impatiently 
earnest  was  the  response  of  the  woman;  sufficiently  so  to 
awaken  surprise,  if  not  suspicion,  in  the  mind  of  the  old 
chief.  She  saw  her  error  in  the  next  instant,  and  proceeding 
to  correct  it,  without,  at  the  same  time  yielding  the  point,  she 

said : 

"  Thou  art  weary,  chief— all  day  long  thou  hast  been  upon 


194  THE  YEMASSEE. 

the  track  of  toil,  and  thy  feet  need  rest.  Rest  thee.  Matiwan 
is  here — why  shouldst  thou  not  repose  ?  Will  she  not  look  to 
the  skins?     She  goes." 

"  Thou  art  good,  Matiwan,  but  Sanutee  will  look  with  the 
eye  that  is  true.  He  is  not  weary  as  thou  say'st.  Cha !  " — 
he  exclaimed,  as  she  still  endeavoured  to  prevent  him — "  Cha ! 
— Cha !  "  impatiently  putting  her  aside  with  the  exclamation, 
and  turning  to  the  very  spot  of  Occonestoga's  concealment. 
Hopeless  of  escape,  Matiwan  clasped  her  hands  together,  and 
the  beatings  of  her  heart  grew  more  frequent  and  painful. 
Already  his  hands  were  upon  the  skins, — already  had  Occon- 
estoga  determined  upon  throwing  aside  his  covering  and 
grappling  with  his  fate  like  a  warrior,  when  a  sudden  yell  of 
many  voices,  and  the  exciting  blood-cry  of  Yemassee  battle, 
"  Sangarrah-me,  Sangarrah-me," — rang  through  the.  little 
apartment.  Lights  flared  all  around  the  lodge,  and  a  con- 
fused, wild,  approaching  clamour,  as  of  many  voices,  from 
without,  drew  the  attention  of  all  within,  and  diverted  Sanutee 
from  a  further  search  at  that  time,  which  must  have  resulted 
in  such  a  denouement  as  would  have  tried  severely,  if  not 
fatally,  the  several  parties.  But  the  respite  afforded  to  Mati- 
wan was  very  brief.  The  cry  from  without  was  of  startling 
significance  to  the  woman  and  her  son. 

"  Sangarrah-me — he  is  here — the  slave  of  Opitchi-Manneyix) 
is  here/' 

And  a  general  howl,  with  a  direct  call  for  Sanutee,  brought 
the  old  chief  to  the  door  of  the  lodge.  It  was  surrounded 
by  a  crowd  of  the  red  men,  in  a  state  of  intense  excitement. 
Before  the  old  chief  could  ask  the  purpose  of  their  visit,  and 
the  cause  of  their  clamour,  he  had  heard  it  from  a  score  of 
voices.  They  came  to  denounce  the  fugitive,  they  had  tracked 
him  to  the  lodge.  The  indiscretion  of  Occonestoga  when 
speaking  in  the  ear  of  the  Indian  maiden,  Hiwassee,  had 
brought  about  its  legitimate  consequences.  In  her  surprise, 
and  accounting  for  the  shriek  she  gave,  she  had  revealed  the 
circumstance  to  her  lover,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  had 
again  related  it  to  another.  The  story  flew,  the  crowd 
increased,  and,  gathering  excitement  from  numbers,  they 
rushed  forward  to  the  lodge  of  Matiwan,  where,  from  his 
known  love  to  his  mother,  they  thought  it  probable  he  would 


THE  YEMASSEE.  195 

be  found,  to  claim  the  doomed  slave  of  Opitchi-Manneyto. 
The  old  chief  heard  them  with  a  stern  and  motionless  calm  of 
countenance;  then,  without  an  instant  of  reflection,  throw- 
ing open  the  door  of  the  lodge,  he  bade  them  enter  upon  the 
search  for  their  victim. 

The  clamour  and  its  occasion,  in  the  meantime,  had  been 
made  sufficiently  and  fearfully  intelligble  to  those  within. 
Matiwan  sank  down  hopelessly  in  a  corner  of  the  apartment, 
-while  Oceonestoga,  with  a  rapid  recovery  of  all  his  ener- 
gies, throwing  aside  his  covering  of  skins,  and  rising  from  his 
place  of  concealment,  stood  up  once  more,  an  upright  and  fear- 
less Indian  warrior.  He  freed  the  knife  from  its  sheath, 
tightened  the  belt  about  his  waist,  grasped  the  tomahawk  in 
his  right  hand,  and  placing  himself  conspicuously  in  the  centre 
of  the  apartment,  prepared  manfully  for  the  worst. 

Such  was  his  position  when,  leading  the  way  for  the  pur- 
suers   of    the    fugitive,    Sanutee    re-entered    the    cabin.      A 
moment's  glance  sufficed  to  show  him  the  truth  of  the  state- 
ment made  him,  and  at   the  same  time  accounted  for  the 
uneasiness  of  Matiwan,  and  her  desire  to  prevent  his  examina- 
tion of  the  skins.     He  darted  a  severe  look  upon  her  where 
she  lay  in  the  corner,  and  as  the  glance  met  her  own,  she 
crept  silentlv  towards  him  and  would  have  clasped  his  knees ; 
but  the  ire  of  Sanutee  was  too  deeply  awakened,  and,  regard- 
ing his  profligate  son,  not  merely  in  that  character,  but  as 
the  chief  enemy  and  betrayer  of  his  country  to  the  English, 
he  threw  her  aside,  then  approached  and  stretched  forth  his 
arm  as  if  to  secure  him.    But  Oceonestoga  stood  on  the  defen- 
sive ;  and  with  a  skill  and  power,  which,  at  one  time,  had  pro- 
cured for  him  a  high  reputation  for  warrior-like  conduct,  in 
a  field  where  the  competitors  were  numerous,  he  hurled  the 
old  chief  back  upon  the  crowd  that  followed  him.     Doubly 
incensed  with  the  resistance  thus  offered,  Sanutee  re-advanced 
with  a  degree  of  anger  which  excluded  the  cautious  considera- 
tion of  the  true  warrior,— and  as  the  approach  was  narrow,  he 
re-advanced  unsupported.     The   recollection  of  the  terrible 
doom  impending  over  his  head— the  knowledge  of  Sanutee's 
own  share  in  its  decree — the  stern  denunciations  of  his  father 
in  his  owm  ears,— the  fierce  feeling  of  degraded  pride  con- 
sequent upon  his  recent  and  present  mode  of  life,  and  the 


196  THE  YEMASSEE. 

desperate  mood  induced  by  his  complete  isolation  from  all 
the  sympathies  of  his  people,  evinced  by  their  vindictive  pur- 
suit of  him — all  conspired  to  make  him  the  reckless  wretch 
who  would  rather  seek  than  shrink  from  the  contemplated 
parricide.  His  determination  was  evident  in  the  glance  of  his 
eye;  and  while  he  threw  back  the  tomahawk,  so  that  tiie 
sharp  pick  on  the  opposite  end  rested  upon  his  right  shoulder, 
and  its  edge  lay  alongside  his  cheek,  he  muttered  between  his 
firmly  set  teeth,  fragments  of  the  fearful  scalp-song  which  he 
had  sung  in  his  mother's  ear  before. 

"  Sangarrah-me — Sangarrah-me, 
I  hear  him  groan,  I  see  him  gasp, 
I  tear  his  throat,  I  drink  his  blood — 
Sangarrah-me — Sangarrah-me." 

But  the  fierce  old  chief,  undiscouraged,  roused  by  the  insult 
he  had  received  by  the  defiance  of  his  own  son,  sprang  again 
towards  him.  Even  while  he  sang  the  bloody  anthem  of  the 
Yemassee,  the  fugitive,  with  desperate  strength  and  feeling 
grappled  the  father  by  his  throat,  crying  aloud  to  him,  as  he 
shook  the  hatchet  in  his  eyes — 

"  I  hear  thee  groan — I  see  thee  gasp — I  tear  thy  throat — I 
drink  thy  blood;  for  I  know  thee  as  mine  enemy.  Thou  art 
not  Sanutee — thou  art  not  the  father  of  Occonestoga — but  a 
black  dog,  sent  on  his  path  to  tear.  Die,  thou  dog — thou  black 
dog — die — thus  I  slay  thee — thus  I  slay  thee,  thou  enemy  of 
Occonestoga." 

And,  handling  the  old  man  with  a  strength  beyond  his 
power  to  contend  with,  he  aimed  the  deadly  stroke  directly  at 
the  eyes  of  his  father.  But  the  song  and  the  speech  had 
aroused  the  yet  conscious  but  suffering  Matiwan,  and  starting 
up. from  the  ground  where  she  had  been  lying,  almost  between 
the  feet  of  the  combatants,  with  uplifted  hands  she  inter- 
posed, just  as  the  fell  direction  had  been  given  to  the  weapon 
of  her  son.  The  piercing  shriek  of  that  fondly  cherishing 
mother  went  to  the  very  bones  of  the  young  warrior.  Her 
intei  position  had  the  effect  of  a  spell  upon  him,  particularly 
as,  at  the  moment — so  timely  for  Sanutee  had  been  her  inter- 
position— he  who  gave  the  blow  could  with  difficulty  arrest 
the  impulse  with  which  it  had  been  given,  and  which  must 


THE  YEMASSEE.  197 

have  made  it  a  blow  fatal  to  her.  The  narrow  escape  which 
he  had  made,  sent  through  the  youth  an  unnerving  chill  and 
shudder.  The  deadly  instrument  fell  from  his  hand,  and 
now  rushing  upon  him,  the  crowd  drew  him  to  the  ground,  and 
taking  from  him  every  other  weapon,  pinioned  his  arms  closely 
behind  him.  He  turned  away  with  something  of  horror  in 
his  countenance  as  he  met  the  second  gaze  of  his  father,  and 
his  eyes  rested  with  a  painful  solicitude  upon  the  wo-begone 
visage  of  Matiwan,  who  had,  after  her  late  effort,  again  sunk 
down  at  the  feet  of  Sanutee.  He  looked  fondly,  but  sadly 
upon  her,  and,  with  a  single  sentence  addressed  to  her,  he 
offered  no  obstacle  while  his  captors  led  him  away. 

"  Matiwan — "  said  he, — "  thou  hast  bound  Occonestoga  for 
his  enemies.    Thou  hast  given  him  up  to  Opitehi-Manneyto." 

The  woman  heard  no  more,  but,  as  they  bore  him  off.  she 
sank  down  in  momentary  insensibility  upon  the  spot  where 
she  had  been  crouching  through  the  greater  part  of  the  previ- 
ous scene.  Sanutee,  meanwhile,  with  much  of  the  character 
of  ancient  Roman  patriotism,  went  forth  with  the  rest,  on  the 
way  to  the  council ;  one  of  the  judges— indeed  the  chief  arbiter 
upon  the  destinies  of  his  son.  There  was  no  delay  among  the 
red  men,  in  the  work  of  justice.  The  midnight  was  not  less 
sacred  than  the  sunlight,  when  the  victim  was  ready  for  the 
executioner. 


198  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

It  was  a  gloomy  amphitheatre  in  the  deep  forests  to  which 
the  assembled  multitude  bore  the  unfortunate  Occonestoga. 
The  whole  scene  was  unique  in  that  solemn  grandeur,  that 
sombre  hue,  that  deep  spiritual  repose,  in  which  the  human 
imagination  delights  to  invest  the  region  which  has  been 
rendered  remarkable  for  the  deed  of  punishment  or  crime.  A 
small  swamp  or  morass  hung  upon  one  side  of  the  wood,  from 
the  rank  bosom  of  which,  in  numberless  millions,  the  flicker- 
ing fire-fly  perpetually  darted  upwards,  giving  a  brilliance 
and  animation  to  the  spot,  which,  at  that  moment,  no  assem- 
blage of  light  or  life  could  possibly  enliven.  The  ancient  oak, 
a  bearded  Druid,  was  there  to  contribute  to  the  due  solemnity 
of  all  associations — the  green  but  gloomy  cedar,  the  ghostly 
cypress,  and  here  and  there  the  overgrown  pine, — all  rose  up 
in  their  primitive  strength,  and  with  an  undergrowth  around 
them  of  shrub  and  flower,  that  scarcely,  at  any  time,  in  that 
sheltered  and  congenial  habitation,  had  found  it  necessary  to 
shrink  from  winter.  In  the  centre  of  the  area  thus  invested, 
rose  a  high  and  venerable  mound,  the  tumulus  of  many  preced- 
ing ages,  from  the  washed  sides  of  which  might  now  and  then 
be  seen  protruding  the  bleached  bones  of  some  ancient  war- 
rior or  sage.  A  circle  of  trees,  at  a  little  distance,  hedged  it 
in, — made  secure  and  sacred  by  the  performance  there  of  many 
of  their  religious  rites  and  offices, — themselves,  as  they  bore 
the  broad  arrow  of  the  Yemassee,  being  free  from  all  danger 
of  overthrow  or  desecration  by  Indian  hands. 

Amid  the  confused  cries  of  the  multitude,  they  bore  the 
captive  to  the  foot  of  the  tumulus,  and  bound  him  backward, 
half  reclining  upon  a  tree.  An  hundred  warriors  stood 
around,  armed  according  to  the  manner,  of  the  nation,  each 
with  a  tomahawk,  and  knife,  and  bow.  They  stood  up  as  for 
battle,  but  spectators  simply,  and  took  no  part  in  a  proceed- 
ing which  belonged  entirely  to  the  priesthood.  In  a  wider 
and  denser  circle,  gathered  hundreds  more— not  the  warriors, 


THE  YEMASSEE.  199 

but  the  people— the  old,  the  young,  the  women,  and  the  chil- 
dren, all  fiercely  excited  and  anxious  to  see  a  ceremony,  so 
awfully  exciting  to  an  Indian  imagination;  involving,  as  it 
did,  not  only  the  perpetual  loss  of  human  caste  and  national 
consideration,  but  the  eternal  doom,  the  degradation,  the 
denial  of.  and  the  exile  from,  their  simple  forest  heaven. 
Interspersed  with  this  latter  crowd,  seemingly  at  regular 
intervals,  and  with  an  allotted  labour  assigned  them,  came  a 
nutnber  of  old  women,  not  unmeet  representatives,  individ- 
ually, for  either  of  the  weird  sisters  of  the  Scottish  Thane,* 
'    "  So  withered  and  so  wild  in  their  attire — " 

and,  regarding  their  cries  and  actions,  of  whom  we  may 
safely  affirm,  that  they  looked  like  any  thing  but  inhabitants 
of  earth !  In  their  hands  they  bore,  each  of  them,  a  naming 
torch,  of  the  rich  and  gummy  pine ;  and  these  they  waved  over 
the  heads  of  the  multitude  in  a  thousand  various  evolutions, 
accompanying  each  movement  with  a  fearful  cry.  which,  at 
regular  periods,  was  chorused  by  the  assembled  mass.  A 
bugle,  a  native  instrument  of  sound,  five  feet  or  more  in 
length,  hollowed  out  from  the  commonest  timber— the  cracks 
and  breaks  of  which  were  carefully  sealed  up  with  the  resinous 
gum  oozing  from  their  burning  torches,  and  which,  to  this 
day,  borrowed  from  the  natives,  our  negroes  employ  on  the 
southern  waters  with  a  peculiar  compass  and  variety  of  note- 
was  carried  by  one  of  the  party,  and  gave  forth  at  intervals, 
timed  with  much  regularity,  a  long,  protracted,  single  blast, 
adding  greatlv  to  the  wild  and  picturesque  character  of  the 
spectacle.  At  the  articulation  of  these  sounds,  the  circles 
continued  to  contract,  though  slowly;  until,  at  length  but  a 
brief  space  lay  between  the  armed  warriors,  the  crowd,  and 
the  unhappy  victim. 

The  night  grew  dark  of  a  sudden,  and  the  sky  was  obscured 
by  one  of  the  brief  tempests  that  usually  usher  in  the  sum- 
mer, and  mark  the  transition,  in  the  south,  of  one  season  to 
another.  A  wild  gust  rushed  along  the  wood.  The  leaves  were 
whirled  over  the  heads  of  the  assemblage,  and  the  trees  bent 
downwards,  until  they  cracked  and  groaned  again  beneath  the 

♦Macbeth,  thane  of  Glamis  and  of  Cawdor.  Cf.  Shakspere's 
Macbeth,  L,  2. 


200  THE  YEMASSEE. 

wind.  A  feeling  of  natural  superstition  crossed  the  minds  of 
the  multitude,  as  the  hurricane,  though  common  enough  in 
that  region,  passed  hurriedly  along;  and  a  spontaneous  and 
universal  voice  of  chaunted  prayer  rose  from  the  multitude, 
in  their  own  wild  and  emphatic  language,  to  the  evil  deity 
whose  presence  they  beheld  in  its  progress : 

"  Thy  wing,  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
It  o'erthrows  the  tall  trees — 
Thy  breath,  Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Makes  the  waters  tremble — 
Thou  art  in  the  hurricane, 
When  the  wigwam  tumbles — 
Thou  art  in  the  arrow-fire, 
When  the  pine  is  shiver'd — 
But  upon  the  Yemassee, 
Be  thy  coming  gentle — 
Are  they  not  thy  well-beloved? 
Bring  they  not  a  slave  to  thee? 
Look!  the  slave  is  bound  for  thee, 
'Tis  the  Yemassee  that  brings  him. 
Pass,  Opitchi-Manneyto — 
Pass,  black  spirit,  pass  from  us — 
Be  thy  passage  gentle." 

And,  as  the  uncouth  strain  rose  at  the  conclusion  into  a 
diapason  of  unanimous  and  contending  voices,  of  old  and 
young,  male  and  female,  the  brief  summer  tempest  had  gone 
by.  A  shout  of  self-gratulation,  joined  with  warm  acknowl- 
edgements, testified  the  popular  sense  and  confidence  in  that 
especial  Providence,  which  even  the  most  barbarous  nations 
claim  as  for  ever  working  in  their  behalf. 

At  this  moment,  surrounded  by  the  chiefs,  and  preceded  by 
the  great  prophet  or  high-priest,  Enoree-Mattee,  came  Samitee, 
the  well-beloved  of  the  Yemassee,  to  preside  over  the  destinies 
of  his  son.  There  was  a  due  and  becoming  solemnity,  but 
nothing  of  the  peculiar  feelings  of  the  father,  visible  in  his 
countenance.  Blocks  of  wood  were  placed  around  as  seats  for 
the  chiefs,  but  Sanutee  and  the  prophet  threw  themselves,  with 
more  of  imposing  veneration  in  the  proceeding,  upon  the  edge 
of  the  tumulus,  just  where  an  overcharged  spot,  bulging  out 
with  the  crowding  bones  of  its  inmates,  had  formed  an  eleva- 
tion answering  the  purpose  of  couch  or  seat.  They  sat, 
directly    looking   upon   the   prisoner,   who    reclined,    bound 


THE  YEMASSBE.  201 

securely  upon  his  back  to  a  decapitated  tree,  at  a  little  dis- 
tance before  them.  A  signal  having  been  given,  the  women 
ceased  their  clamours,  and  approaching  him.  they  waved  their 
torches  so  closely  above  his  head  as  to  make  all  his  features 
distinctly  visible  to  the  now  watchful  and  silent  multitude. 
He  bore  the  examination  with  stern,  unmoved  features,  which 
the  sculptor  in  brass  or  marble  might  have  been  glad  to  trans- 
fer to  his  statue  in  the  block.  While  the  torches  waved,  one 
of  the  women  now  cried  aloud,  in  a  barbarous  chant,  above 
him: — 

"  Is  not  this  a  Yemassee? 

Wherefore  is  he  bound  thus — 

Wherefore,  with  the  broad  arrow 

On  his  right  arm  growing, 
"  Wherefore  is  he  bound  thus — 

Is  not  this  a  Yemassee?" 

A  second  woman  now  approached  him,  waving  her  torch  in 
like  manner,  seeming  closely  to  inspect  his  features,  and 
actually  passing  her  fingers  over  the  emblem  upon  his 
shoulder,  as  if  to  ascertain  more  certainly  the  truth  of  the 
image.  Having  done  this,  she  turned  about  to  the  crowd,  and 
in  the  same  barbarous  sort  of  strain  with  the  preceding,  replied 
as  follows : — 

"  It  is  not  the  Yemassee, 
But  a  dog  that  runs  away. 
From  his  right  arm  take  the  arrow, 
He  is  nor  the  Yemassee." 

As  these  words  were  uttered,  the  crowd  of  women  and  children 
around  cried  out  for  the  execution  of  the  judgment  thus 
given,  and  ontfe  again  flamed  the  torches  wildly,  and  the 
shoutings  were  general  among  the  multitude.  When  they 
had  subsided,  a  huge  Indian  came  forward,  and  sternly  con- 
fronted the  prisoner.  This  man  was  Malatchie,  the  execu- 
tioner; and  he  looked  the  horrid  trade  which  he  professed. 
His  garments  were  stained  and  smeared  with  blood  and 
covered  with  scalps,  which,  connected  together  by  slight 
strings,  formed  a  loose  robe  over  his  shoulders.  In  one  hand 
he  carried  a  torch,  in  the  other  a  knife.  He  came  forward, 
under  the  instructions  of  Enoree-Mattee.  the  prophet,  to 
claim  the  slave  of  Opitchi-Manneyto, — that  is,  in  our  Ian- 


202'  THE  YEMASSEE. 

guage,  the  slave  of  hell.    This  he  did  in  the  following  strain : — 

"  'Tis  Opitchi-Manneyto 
In   Malatchie's   ear  that  cries, 
This  is  not  the  Yemassee — 
And  the  woman's  word  is  true — 
He's  a  dog  that  should  be  mine, 
I  have  hunted  for  him  long. 
From  his  master  he  had  run, 
With  the  stranger  made  his  home, 
Now  I  have  him,  he  is  mine — 
Hear  Opitchi-Manneyto." 

And,  as  the  besmeared  and  malignant  executioner  howled  his 
fierce  demand  in  the  very  ears  of  his  victim,  he  hurled  the 
knife  which  he  carried,  upwards  with  such  dexterity  into  the 
air,  that  it  rested,  point  downward,  and  sticking  fast  on  its 
descent  into  the  tree  and  just  above  the  head  of  the  doomed 
Occonestoga.  "With  his  hand,  the  next  instant,  he  laid  a 
resolute  gripe  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  victim,  as  if  to  con- 
firm and  strengthen  his  claim  by  actual  possession;  while,  at 
the  same  time,  with  a  sort  of  malignant  pleasure,  he  thrust' 
his  besmeared  and  distorted  visage  close  into  the  face  of  his 
prisoner.  Writhing  against  the  ligaments  which  bound  him 
fast,  Occonestoga  strove  to  turn  his  head  aside  from  the  dis- 
gusting and  obtrusive  presence;  and  the  desperation  of  his 
effort,  but  that  he  had  been  too  carefully  secured,  might  have 
resulted  in  the  release  of  some  of  his  limbs;  for  the  breast 
heaved  and  laboured,  and  every  muscle  of  his  arms  and  legs 
was  wrought,  by  his  severe  action,  into  so  many  ropes,  hard, 
full,  and  indicative  of  prodigious  strength. 

There  was  one  person  in  that  crowd  who  sympathized  with 
the  victim.  This  was  Hiwassee,  the  maiden  in  whose  ears  he 
had  uttered  a  word,  which,  in  her  thoughtless  scream  and 
subsequent  declaration  of  the  event,  when  she  had  identified 
him,  had  been  the  occasion  of  his  captivity.  Something  of 
self-reproach  for  her  share  in  his  misfortune,  and  an  old  feel- 
ing of  regard  for  Occonestoga,  who  had  once  been  a  favourite 
with  the  young  of  both  sexes  among  his  people,  was  at  work 
in  her  bosom;  and,  turning  to  Echotee,  her  newly-accepted 
lover,  as  soon  as  the  demand  of  Malatchie  had  been  heard,  she 
prayed  him  to  resist  the  demand.     In  such  cases,  all  that  a 


THE  YEMASSEE.  203 

warrior  had  to  do  was  simply  to  join  issue  upon  the  claim, 
and  the  popular  will  then  determines  the  question.  Echotee 
could  not  resist  an  application  so  put  to  him,  and  by  one  who 
had  just  listened  to  a  prayer  of  his  own,  so  all-important  to 
his  own  happiness ;  and  being  himself  a  noble  youth,  one  who 
had  been  a  rival  of  the  captive  in  his  better  days,  a  feeling 
of  generosity  combined  with  the  request  of  Hiwassee,  and  he 
boldly  leaped  forward.  Seizing  the  knife  of  Malatchie,  which 
stuck  in  the  tree,  he  drew  it  forth  and  threw  it  upon  the 
ground,  thus  removing  the  sign  of  property  which  the  execu- 
tioner had  put  up  in  behalf  of  the  evil  deity. 

"  Occonestoga  is  the  brave  of  the  Yemassee,"  exclaimed  the 
young  Echotee,  while  the  eyes  of  the  captive  looked  what  his 
lips  cpuld  not  have  said.  "  Occonestoga  is  a  brave  of  Yemas- 
see— he  is  no  dog  of  Malatchie.  Wherefore  is  the  cord  upon 
the  limbs  of  a  free  warrior?  Is  not  Occonestoga  a  free  war- 
rior of  Yemassee?  The  eyes  of  Echotee  have  looked  upon  a 
warrior  like  Occonestoga,  when  he  took  many  scalps.  Did 
not  Occonestoga  lead  the  Yemassee  against  the  Savannahs? 
The  eyes  of  Echotee  saw  him  slay  the  red-eyed  Suwannee,  the 
great  chief  of  the  Savannahs.  Did  not  Occonestoga  go  on 
the  war-path  with  our  young  braves  against  the  Edistoes,  the 
brown-foxes  that  came  out  of  the  swamp  ?  The  eyes  of  Echotee 
beheld  him.  Occonestoga  is  a  brave,  and  a  hunter  of  Yemas- 
see— he  is  not  the  dog  of  Malatchie.  He  knows  not  fear.  He 
hath  an  arrow  with  wings,  and  the  panther  he  runs  down  in 
the  chase.  His  tread  is  the  tread  of  a  sly  serpent  that  comes, 
so  that  he  hears  him  not,  upon  the  track  of  the  red  deer, 
feeding  down  in  the  valley.  Echotee  knows  the  warrior — 
Echotee  knows  the  hunter — he  knows  Occonestoga,  but  he 
knows  no  dog  of  Opitchi-Manneyto." 

"  He  hath  drunk  of  the  poison  drink  of  the  pale-faces — his 
feet  are  gone  from  the  good  path  of  the  Yemassee — he  would 
sell  his  people  to  the  English  for  a  painted  bird.  He  is  the 
slave  of  Opitchi-Manneyto/'  cried  Malatchie,  in  reply.  Echotee 
was  not  satisfied  to  yield  the  point  so  soon,  and  he  responded 
accordingly. 

"  It  is  true.  The  feet  of  the  young  warrior  have  gone  away 
from  the  good  paths  of  the  Yemassee,  but  I  see  not  the  weak- 
ness of  the  chief,  when  my  eye  looks  back  upon  the  great  deeds 


204  THE  YEMASSEE. 

of  the  warrior.  I  see  nothing  but  the  shrinking  body  of 
Suwannee  under  the  knee,  under  the  knife  of  the  Yemassee. 
I  hear  nothing  but  the  war-whoop  of  the  Yemassee,  when  we 
broke  through  the  camp  of  the  brown-foxes,  and  scalped  them 
where  they  skulked  in  the  swamp.  I  see  this  Yemassee  strike 
the  foe  and  take  the  scalp,  and  I  know  Occonestoga — Occon- 
estoga,  the  son  of  the  well-beloved — the  great  chief  of  the 
Yemassee." 

ki  It  is  good — Occonestoga  has  thanks  for  Echotee — Echotee 
is  a  brave  warrior  !  "  murmured  the  captive  to  his  champion,  in 
tones  of  melancholy  acknowledgement.  The  current  of  public 
feeling  began  to  set  somewhat  in  behalf  of  the  victim,  and  an 
occasional  whisper  to  that  effect  might  be  heard  here  and  there 
among  the  multitude.  Even  Malatchie  himself  looked  for  a 
moment  as  if  he  thought  it  not  improbable  that  he  might  be 
defrauded  of  his  prey;  and,  while  a  free  shout  from  many 
attested  the  compliment  which  all  were  willing  to  pay  to 
Echotee  for  his  magnanimous  defence  of  one  who  had  once 
been  a  rival — and  not  always  successful — in  the  general  esti- 
mation, the  executioner  turned  to  the  prophet  and  to  Sanutee, 
as  if  doubtful  whether  or  not  to  proceed  farther  in  his  claim. 
But  all  doubt  was  soon  quieted,  as  the  stern  father  rose  before 
the  assembly.  Every  sound  was  stilled  in  expectation  of  his 
words  on  this  so  momentous  an  occasion  to  himself.  They 
waited  not  long.  The  old  man  had  tasked  all  the  energies  of 
the  patriot,  not  less  than  of  the  stoic,  and  having  once  deter- 
mined upon  the  necessity  of  the  sacrifice,  he  had  no  hesitating 
fears  or  scruples  palsying  his  determination.  He  seemed  not 
to  regard  the  imploring  glance  of  his  son,  seen  and  felt  by 
all  besides  in  the  assembly;  but,  with  a  voice  entirely 
unaffected  by  the  circumstances  of  his  position,  he  spoke  forth 
the  doom  of  the  victim  in  confirmation  with  that  originally 
expressed. 

"  Echotee  has  spoken  like  a  brave  warrior  with  a  tongue 
of  truth,  and  a  soul  that  has  birth  with  the  sun.  But  he 
speaks  out  of  his  own  heart — and  does  not  not  speak  to  the 
heart  of  the  traitor.  The  Yemassee  will  all  say  for  Echotee, 
but  who  can  say  for  Occonestoga  when  Sanutee  himself  is 
silent  ?  Does  the  Yemassee  speak  with  a  double  tongue  ?  Did 
not  the  Yemassee  promise  Occonestoga  to  Opitchi-Manneyto 


THE  YEMASSEE.  205 

with  the  other  chiefs  ?  Where  are  they  ?  They  are  gone  into 
the  swamp,  where  the  sun  shines  not,  and  the  eyes  of  Opitchi- 
Manneyto  are  upon  them.  He  knows  them  for  his  slaves. 
The  arrow  is  gone  from  their  shoulders,  and  the  Yemassee 
knows  them  no' longer.  Shall  the  dog  escape,  who  led  the  way 
to  the  English— who  brought  the  poison  drink  to  the  chiefs, 
which  made  them  dogs  to  the  English  and  slaves  to  Opitchi- 
Manneyto  ?  Shall  he  escape  the  doom  the  Yemassee  hath  put 
upon  them  ?  Sanutee  speaks  the  voice  of  the  Manneyto.  Occo- 
nestoga  is  a  dog,  who  would  sell  his  father — who  would  make 
our  women  to  carry  water  for  the  pale-faces.  He  is  not  the 
son  of  Sanutee — Sanutee  knows  him  no  more.  Look, — Yemas- 
sees — the  well-beloved  has  spoken  !  " 

He  'paused,  and  turning  away,  sank  down  silently  upon  the 
little  bank  on  which  he  had  before  rested;  while  Malatchie, 
without  further  opposition — for  the  renunciation  of  his  own 
son  by  one  so  highly  esteemed  as  Sanutee,  was  conclusive 
against  the  youth — advanced  to  execute  the  terrible  judgment 
upon   his   victim. 

"  Oh !  father,  chief,  Sanutee,  the  well-beloved !  "—was  the 
cry  that  now,  for  the  first  time,  burst  convulsively  from  the 
lips  of  the  prisoner—"  hear  me,  father— Occonestoga  will  go 
on  the  war-path  with  thee,  and  with  the  Yemassee— against 
the  Edisto,  against  the  Spaniard— hear,  Sanutee— he  will  go 
with  thee  against  the  English."  But  the  old  man  bent  not- 
yielded  not,  and  the  crowd  gathered  nigher  in  the  intensity  of 
their  interest. 

"Wilt  thou  have  no  ear,  Sanutee?— it  is  Occonestoga— it 
is  the  son  of  Matiwan  that  speaks  to  thee."  Sanutee's  head 
sank  as  the  reference  was  made  to  Matiwan,  but  he  showed  no 
other  sign  of  emotion.  He  moved  not — he  spoke  not — and 
bitterly  and  hopelessly  the  youth  exclaimed — 

"  Oh !  thou  art  colder  than  the  stone-house  of  the  adder— 
and  deafer  than  his  ears.  Father,  Sanutee,  wherefore  wilt 
thou  lose  me,  even  as  the  tree  its  leaf,  when  the  storm  smites 
it  in  summer?    Save  me,  my  father." 

And  his  head  sank  in  despair,  as  he  beheld  the  unchanging 
look  of  stern  resolve  with  which  the  unbending  sire  regarded 
him.  For  a  moment  he  was  unmanned :  until  a  loud  shout  of 
derision  from  the  crowd,  as  they  beheld  the  show  of  his  weak- 


206  THE  YEMASSEE. 

ness,  came  to  the  support  of  his  pride.  The  Indian  shrinks 
from  humiliation,  where  he  would  not  shrink  from  death  ;  and, 
as  the  shout  reached  his  ears,  he  shouted  back  his  defiance, 
raised  his  head  loftily  in  air,  and  with  the  most  perfect  com- 
posure, commenced  singing  his  song  of  death,  the  song  of 
many  victories. 

"  Wherefore  sings  he  his  death-song  ?  "  was  the  cry  from 
many  voices, — "  he  is  not  to  die  ?  " 

"  Thou  art  the  slave  of  Opitchi-Manneyto,"  cried  Malatchie 
to  the  captive — "  thou  shalt  sing  no  lie  of  thy  victories  in  the 
ear  of  Yemassee.  The  slave  of  Opitchi-Manneyto  has  no 
triumph" — and  the  words  of  the  song  were  effectually 
drowned,  if  not  silenced,  in  the  tremendous  clamour  which 
they  raised  about  him.  It  was  then  that  Malatchie  claimed 
his  victim — the  doom  had  been  already  given,  but  the  cere- 
mony of  expatriation  and  outlawry  was  yet  to  follow,  and 
under  the  direction  of  the  prophet,  the  various  castes  and 
classes  of  the  nation  prepared  to  take  a  final  leave  of  one 
who  could  no  longer  be  known  among  them.  First  of  all 
came  a  band  of  young  marriageable  women,  who,  wheeling  in  a 
circle  three  times  about  him,  sang  together  a  wild  apostrophe 
containing  a  bitter  farewell,  which  nothing  in  our  language 
could  perfectly  embody. 

"  Go, — thou  hast  no  wife  in  Yemassee — thou  hast  given  no 
lodge  to  the  daughter  of  Yemassee — thou  hast  slain  no  meat 
for  thy  children.  Thou  hast  no  name — the  women  of  Yemas- 
see know  thee  no  more.    They  know  thee  no  more." 

And  the  final  sentence  was  reverberated  from  the  entire 
assembly — 

*'  They  know  thee  no  more — they  know  thee  no  more." 

Then  came  a  number  of  the  ancient  men — the  patriarchs 
of  the  nation,  who  surrounded  him  in  circular  mazes  three 
several  times,  singing  as  they  did  so  a  hymn  of  like  import. 

"  Go — thou  sittest  not  in  the  council  of  Yemassee — thou 
shalt  not  speak  wisdom  to  the  boy  that  comes.  Thou  hast 
no  name  in  Yemassee — the  fathers  of  Yemassee,  they  know 
thee  no  more." 

And  again  the  whole  assembly  cried  out,  as  with  one 
voice — "  They  know  thee  no  more,  they  know  thee  no  more." 

These  were  followed  by  the  young  warriors,  his  old  asso- 


THE  YEMASSEE.  207 

dates,  who  now,  in  a  solemn  band,  approached  him  to  go 
through  a  like  performance-  His  eyes  were  shut  as  they  came 
— his  blood  was  chilled  in  his  heart,  and  the  articulated  fare- 
well of  their  wild  chant  failed  seemingly  to  reach  his  ear. 
Nothing  but  the  last  sentence  he  heard — 

"  Thou  that  wast  a  brother, 
Thou  art  nothing  now — 
The  young  warriors  of  Yemassee, 
They  know  thee  no  more." 

And  the  crowd  cried  with  them — "  they  know  thee  no 
more." 

"  Is  no  hatchet  sharp  for  Occonestoga  ?  " — moaned  forth 
the  suffering  savage.  But  his  trials  were  only  then  begun. 
Enoree-Mattee  now  approached  him  with  the  words,  with 
which,  as  the  representative  of  the  good  Manneyto,  he 
renounced  him, — with  which  he  denied  him  access  to  the 
Indian  heaven,  and  left  him  a  slave  and  an  outcast,  a  miser- 
able wanderer  amid  the  shadows  and  the  swamps,  and  liable 
to  all  the  dooms  and  terrors  which  come  with  the  service  of 
Opitchi-Manneyto. 

"  Thou  wast  the  child  of  Manneyto" — 

sung  the  high  priest  in  a  solemn  chant,  and  with  a  deep- 
toned  voice  that  thrilled  strangely  amid  the  silence  of  the 
scene. 

"  Thou  wast  a  child  of  Manneyto, 
He  gave  thee  arrows  and  an  eye — 
Thou  wast  the  strong  son  of  Manneyto, 
He  gave  thee  feathers  and  a  wing — 
Thou    wast    a    young    brave    of    Manneyto, 
He  gave  thee  scalps  and  a  war-song — 
But  he  knows  thee  no  more — he  knows  thee  no  more." 

And  the  clustering  multitude  again  gave  back  the  last  line 
in  wild  chorus.    The  prophet  continued  his  chant : 

"That  Opitchi-Manneyto!  — 
He   commands   thee  for  his  slave — 
And  the  Yemassee  must  hear  him, 
Hear,  and  give  thee  for  his  slave — 
They  will  take  from  thee  the  arrow, 


208  THE  YEMASSEE. 

The  broad  arrow  of  thy  people — 
Thou  shalt  see  no  blessed  valley, 
Where  the  plum-groves  always  bloom — 
Thou  shalt  hear  no  song  of  valour, 
From  the  ancient  Yemassee — 
Father,  mother,  name,  and  people, 
Thou  shalt  lose  with  that  broad  arrow, 
Thou  art  lost  to  the  Manneyto — 
He  knows  thee  no  more,  he  knows  thee  no  more." 

The  despair  of  hell  was  in  the  face  of  the  victim,  and  he 
howled  forth,  in  a  cry  of  agony,  that,  for  a  moment,  silenced 
the  wild  chorus  of  the  crowd  around,  the  terrible  consciousness 
in  his  mind  of  that  privation  which  the  doom  entailed  upon 
him.  Every  feature  was  convulsed  with  emotion;  and  the 
terrors  of  Opitchi-Manneyto's  dominion  seemed  already  in 
strong  exercise  upon  the  muscles  of  his  heart,  when  Sanutee, 
the  father,  silently  approached  him,  and  with  a  pause  of  a 
few  moments,  stood  gazing  upon  the  son  from  whom  he  was  to 
be  separated  eternally — whom  not  even  the  uniting,  the  restor- 
ing hand  of  death  could  possibly  restore  to  him.  And  he — his 
once  noble  son — the  pride  of  his  heart,  the  gleam  of  his  hope, 
the  triumphant  warrior,  who  was  even  to  increase  his  own  glory, 
and  transmit  the  endearing  title  of  well-beloved,  which  the 
Yemassee  had  given  him,  to  a  succeeding  generation — he  was 
to  be  lost  for  ever !  These  promises  were  all  blasted,  and  the 
father  was  now  present  to  yield  him  up  eternally — to  deny  him 
— to  forfeit  him,  in  fearful  penalty  to  the  nation  whose  genius 
he  had  wronged,  and  whose  rights  he  had  violated.  The  old 
man  stood  for  a  moment,  rather,  we  may  suppose,  for  the 
recovery  of  his  resolution,  than  with  any  desire  for  the  con- 
templation of  the  pitiable  form  before  him.  The  pride  of  the 
youth  came  back  to  him, — the  pride  of  the  strong  mind  in  its 
desolation — as  his  eye  caught  the  inflexible  gaze  of  his 
unswerving  father;  and  he  exclaimed  bitterly  and  loud: — 

"  Wherefore  art  thou  come — thou  hast  been  my  foe,  not 
my  father — away — T  would  not  behold  thee !  "  and  he  closed 
his  eyes  after  the  speech,  as  if  to  relieve  himself  from  a  dis- 
gusting presence. 

"  Thou  hast  said  well,  Occonestoga — Sanutee  is  thy  foe — 
he  is  not  thy  father.  To  say  this  in  thy  ears  has  he  come. 
Look  on  him,  Occonestoga — look  up,  and  hear  thy  doom.    The 


THE  YEMASSEE.  209 

young  and  the  old  of  the  Yemassee — the  warrior  and  the  chief, 
— they  have  all  denied  thee — all  given  thee  up  to  Opitchi- 
Manneyto !  Occonestoga  is  no  name  for  the  Yemassee.  The 
Yemassee  gives  it  to  his  dog.  The  prophet  of  Manneyto  has 
forgotten  thee — thou  art  unknown  to  those  who  were  thy 
people.  And  I,  thy  father — with  this  speech,  I  yield  thee  to 
Opitchi-Manneyto.  Sanutee  is  no  longer  thy  father — thy 
father  knows  thee  no  more" — and  once  more  came  to  the  ears 
of  the  victim  that  melancholy  chorus  of  the  multitude — "  He 
knows  thee  no  more — he  knows  thee  no  more."  Sanutee 
turned  quickly  away  as  he  had  spoken;  and,  as  if  he  suffered 
more  than  he  was  willing  to  show,  the  old  man  rapidly  hast- 
ened to  the  little  mound  where  he  had  been  previously  sitting, 
his  eyes  averted  from  the  further  spectacle.  Occonestoga, 
goaded  to  madness  by  these  several  incidents,  shrieked  forth 
the  bitterest  execrations,  until  Enoree-Mattee,  preceding 
Malatchie.  again  approached.  Having  given  some  directions 
in  an  under-tone  to  the  latter,  he  retired,  leaving  the  execu- 
tioner alone  with  his  victim.  Malatchie,  then,  while  all  was 
silence  in  the  crowd — a  thick  silence,  in  which  even  respira- 
tion seemed  to  be  suspended — proceeded  to  his  duty;  and, 
lifting  the  feet  of  Occonestoga  carefullv  from  the  ground, 
he  placed  a  log  under  them — then  addressing  him,  as  he 
again  bared  his  knife  which  he  stuck  in  the  tree  above  his 
head,  he  sung — 

"  I  take  from  thee  the  earth  of  Yemassee— 
I  take  from  thee  the  water  of  Yemassee — 
I  take  from  thee  the  arrow  of  Yemassee — 
Thou  art  no  longer  a  Yemassee — 
The  Yemassee  knows  thee  no  more.'* 

"  The  Yemassee  knows  thee  no  more,"  cried  the  multitude, 
and  their  universal  shout  was  deafening  upon  the  ear.  Occon- 
estoga said  no  word  now — he  could  offer  no  resistance  to  the 
unnerving  hands  of  Malatchie,  who  now  bared  the  arm  more 
completely  of  its  covering.  But  his  limbs  were  convulsed 
with  the  spasms  of  that  dreadful  terror  of  the  future  which 
was  racking  and  raging  in  every  pulse  of  his  heart.  He  had 
full  faith  in  the  superstitions  of  his  people.  His  terrors 
acknowledged  the  full  horrors  of  their  doom.     A  despairing 


210  THE  YEMASSEE. 

agony,  which  no  language  could  describe,  had  possession  of  his 
soul.  Meanwhile,  the  silence  of  all  indicated  the  general 
anxiety;  and  Malatchie  prepared  to  seize  the  knife  and  per- 
form the  operation,  when  a  confused  murmur  arose  from  the 
crowd  around;  the  mass  gave  way  and  parted,  and,  rushing 
wildly  into  the  area,  came  Matiwan,  his  mother — the  long 
black  hair  streaming — the  features,  an  astonishing  likeness  to 
his  own,  convulsed  like  his;  and  her  action  that  of  one  reck- 
less of  all  things  in  the  way  of  the  forward  progress  she  was 
was  making  to  the  person  of  her  child.  She  cried  aloud  as 
she  came — with  a  voice  that  rang  like  a  sudden  death-bell 
through  the  ring — 

"Would  you  keep  the  mother  from  her  boy,  and  he  to  be 
lost  to  her  for  ever?  Shall  she  have  no  parting  with  the 
young  brave  she  bore  in  her  bosom  ?  Away,  keep  me  not  back 
— I  will  look  upon,  I  will  love  him.  He  shall  have  the  bless- 
ing of  Matiwan,  though  the  Yemassee  and  the  Manneyto 
curse/' 

The  victim  heard,  and  a  momentary  renovation  of  mental 
life,  perhaps  a  renovation  of  hope,  spoke  out  in  the  simple 
exclamation  which  fell  from  his  lips — 

"  Oh,  Matiwan — oh,  mother  !  " 

She  rushed  towards  the  spot  where  she  heard  his  appeal, 
and  thrusting  the  executioner  aside,  threw  her  arms  desper- 
ately about  his  neck. 

"  Touch  him  not,  Matiwan,"  was  the  general  cry  from  the 
crowd — "  Touch  him  not,  Matiwan — Manneyto  knows  him 
no  more." 

"But  Matiwan  knows  him — the  mother  knows  her  child, 
though  the  Manneyto  denies  him.  Oh,  boy — oh,  boy,  boy, 
boy."    And  she  sobbed  like  an  infant  on  his  neck. 

"Thou  art  come,  Matiwan — thou  art  come,  but  wherefore? 
— to  curse  like  the  father — to  curse  like  the  Manneyto  ? " 
mournfully  said  the  captive. 

"  No,  no,  no !  Not  to  curse — not  to  curse.  When  did 
mother  curse  the  child  she  bore?  Not  to  curse,  but  to  bless 
thee. — To  bless  thee  and  forgive." 

"  Tear  her  away,"  cried  the  prophet ;  let  Opitchi-Manneyto 
have  his  slave." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  211 

"  Tear  her  away,  Malatchie,"  cried  the  crowd,  now  impatient 
for  the  execution.     Malatchie  approached. 

"  Not  yet — not  yet,"  appealed  the  woman.  "  Shall  not  the 
mother  say  farewell  to  the  child  she  shall  see  no  more  ? " 
and  she  waved  Malatchie  back,  and  in  the  next  instant  drew 
hastily  from  the  drapery  of  her  dress  a  small  hatchet,  which 
she   had  there  carefully   concealed. 

"'  "What  wouldst  thou  do,  Matiwan  ?  "  asked  Occonestoga,  as 
his  eye  caught  the  glare  of  the  weapon. 

u  Save  thee,  my  boy — save  thee  for  thy  mother,  Occonestoga 
— save  thee  for  the  happy  valley." 

"Wouldst  thou  slay  me,  mother — wouldst  strike  the  heart 
of  tjiy  son  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  something  of  reluctance  to 
receive  death  from  the  hands  of  a  parent. 

"  I  strike  thee  but  to  save  thee,  my  son : — since  they  can- 
not take  the  totem  from  thee  after  the  life  is  gone.  Turn 
away  from  me  thy  head — let  me  not  look  upon  thine  eyes  as  I 
strike,  lest  my  hands  grow  weak  and  tremble.  Turn  thine 
eyes  away — I  will  not  lose  thee." 

His  eyes  closed,  and  the  fatal  instrument,  lifted  above  her 
head,  was  now  visible  in  the  sight  of  all.  The  executioner 
rushed  forward  to  interpose,  but  he  came  too  late.  The  toma- 
hawk was  driven  deep  into  the  skull,  and  but  a  single  sentence 
from  his  lips  preceded  the  final  insensibility  of  the  victim. 

"  It  is  good,  Matiwan,  it  is  good — thou  hast  saved  me — the 
death  is  in  my  heart."  And  back  he  sank  as  he  spoke,  while 
a  shriek  of  mingled  joy  and  horror  from  the  lips  of  the  mother 
announced  the  success  of  her  effort  to  defeat  the  doom,  the 
most  dreadful  in  the  imagination  of  the  Yemassee. 

"  He  is  not  lost— he  is  not  lost.  They  may  not  take  the 
child  from  his  mother.  They  may  not  keep  him  from  the 
valley  of  Manneyto.  He  is  free — he  is  free."  And  she  fell 
back  in  a  deep  swoon  into  the  arms  of  Sanutee.  who  by  this 
time  had  approached.  She  had  defrauded  Opitehi-Manneyto 
of  his  victim,  for  they  may  not  remove  the  badge  of  the  nation 
from  any  but  the  living  victim. 


218  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTEK  XXVI. 

Some  men  only  live  for  great  occasions.  They  sleep  in  the 
calm — but  awake  to  double  life,  and  unlooked  for  activity,  in 
the  tempest.  They  are  the  zephyr- in  peace,  the  storm  in  war. 
The}'  smile  until  you  think  it  impossible  they  should  ever  do 
otherwise,  and  you  are  paralyzed  when  you  behold  the  change 
which  an  hour  brings  about  in  them.  Their  whole  life  in  public 
would  seem  a  splendid  deception ;  and  as  their  minds  and  feel- 
ings are  generally  beyond  those  of  the  great  mass  which  gathers 
about,  and  in  the  end  depends  upon  them,  so  they  continually 
dazzle  the  vision  and  distract  the  judgment  of  those  who 
passingly  observe  them.  Such  men  become  the  tyrants  of  all 
the  rest,  and,  as  there  are  two  kinds  of  tyranny  in  the  world, 
they  either  enslave  to  cherish  or  to  destroy. 

Of  this  class  was  Harrison, — erratic,  daring,  yet  thought- 
ful,— and  not  to  be  measured  by  such  a  mind  as  that  of  the 
pastor  Matthews.  We  have  seen  his  agency — a  leading  agency 
— in  much  of  the  business  of  the  preceding  narrative.  It  was 
not  an  agency  of  the  moment,  but  of  continued  exertion,  the 
result  of  a  due  recognition  of  the  duties  required  at  his  hands. 
Nor  is  this  agency  to  be  discontinued  now.  He  is  still  busy, 
and,  under  his  direction  and  with  his  assistance,  the  sound  of 
the  hammer,  and  the  deep  echo  of  the  axe,  in  the  hands  of 
Granger,  the  smith,  and  Hector,  were  heard  without  intermis- 
sion in  the  Block  House,  "  closing  rivets  up,"  and  putting  all 
things  in  a  state  of  preparation  for  those  coming  dangers  to 
the  colony,  which  his  active  mind  had  predicted.  He  was  not 
to  be  deceived  by  the  thousand  shows  which  are  apt  to  deceive 
others.  He  looked  more  deeply  into  principles  and  the  play  of 
moods  in  other  men,  than  is  the  common  habit ;  and  while  few 
of  the  borderers  estimated  with  him  the  amount  of  danger 
and  difficulty  which  he  felt  to  be  at  hand,  he  gave  himself 
not  the  slightest  trouble  in  considering  their  vague  specula- 
tions, to  which  a  liberal  courtesy  might  have  yielded  the  name 
of  opinions.  His  own  thoughts  were  sufficient  for  him ;  and 
while  this  indifference  may  seem  to  have  been  the  product  of 


THE  YEMASSEE.  213 

an  excessive  self-esteem,  we  shall  find  in  the  sequel  that,  in 
the  present  case,  it  arose  from  a  strong  conviction,  the  legiti- 
mate result  of  a  calm  survey  of  objects  and  actions,  and  a 
cool  and  deliberate  judgment  upon  them. 

We  have  beheld  some  of  Harrison's  anxieties  in  the  strong 
manifestation  which  he  gave  to   Occonestoga,  when  he  de- 
spatched the  unfortunate  young  savage  as  a  spy,  on  an  adven- 
ture which  had  found  such  an  unhappy  and  unlooked-for  ter- 
mination. Entirely  ignorant  of  the  event,  it  was  with  no  small 
impatience  that  his  employer  waited  for  his  return  during  the 
entire  night  and  the  better  portion  of  the  ensuing  day.     The 
distance  was  not  so  great  between  the  two  places,  but  that  the 
fleet-footed  Indian  might  have  readily  overcome  it  in  a  night ; 
giving  him  sufficient  allowance  of  time  also  for  all  necessary 
discoveries ;  and,  doubtless,  such  would  have  been  the  case  but 
for  his  ill-advised  whisper  in  the  ear  of  Hiwassee.  and  the  not 
less  ill-advised  visit  to  the  cottage  of  Matiwan.    The  affection 
of  the  mother  for  the  fugitive  and  outlawed  son,  certainly, 
deserved  no  less  acknowledgment;  but,  while  it  merited  the 
most  grateful  returns, — such   as  the  young  chief,  whatever 
might  have  been  his  faults  and  vices,  yet  cheerfully  and  fondly 
gave  her — the  indiscreet  visit  was  sadly  in  conflict  with  the 
best   policy    of    the    warrior.      His    failure — the    extent    yet 
unknown  to  Harrison — left  the   latter  doubtful  whether  to 
ascribe  it  to  his  misfortune,  or  to  treachery;  and  this  doubt 
contributed  greatly  to  his  solicitude.     In  spite  of  the  sugges- 
tions of  Granger,  who  knew  that  bad  faith  was  not  among 
the  vices  of  the  young  warrior,  he  could  not  help  suspecting 
him  of  deserting  from  the  English  cause  as  the  only  means  by 
which  to  secune  himself  a  reinstatement  in  the  confidence  of 
his  people ;  and  this  suspicion,  while  it  led  to  new  preparations 
for  the  final  issue,  on  the  part  of  Harrison,  was  fruitful,  at 
the  same  time,  of  exaggerated  anxiety  in  his  mind.    To  much 
of  the  drudgery  of  hewing  and  hammering,  therefore,  he  sub- 
jected himself  with  the  rest;  and,  though  cheerful  in  its  per- 
formance, the  most  casual  observer  could  have  readily  seen  how 
much  station  and  education  had  made  him  superior  to  such 
emplo3^ments.     Having  thus  laboured  for  some  time,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  other  parts  of  his  assumed  duties,  and,  at  length, 
mounting  his  steed, — a  favourite  and  fine  chestnut — and  fol- 


214  THE  YEMASSEE. 

lowed  by  Dugdale,  who  had  been  carefully  muzzled,  he  took  his 
way.  in  a  fleet  gallop,  through  the  intricacies  of  the  surround* 
ing  country. 

The  mystery  was  a  singular  one  which  hung  over  Harrison 
in  all  that  region.  It  was  strange  how  people  loved  him — 
how  popular  he  had  become,  even  while  in  all  his  individual 
relations  and  objects  so  perfectly  unknown.  He  had  somehow 
won  golden  opinions  from  all  the  borderers,  wild,  untameable, 
and  like  the  savages,  as  in  many  cases  they  were;  and  the 
utmost  confidence  was  placed  in  his  opinions,  even  when,  as  at 
this  time  was  the  case,  they  happened  to  differ  from  the 
general  tenor  of  their  own.  This  confidence,  indeed,  had  been 
partially  given  him,  in  the  first  instance,  from  the  circum- 
stance of  his  having  taken  their  lead  suddenly,  at  a  moment 
of  great  danger  and  panic ;  when  all  were  stricken  with  terror 
but  himself ;  and  none  knew  what  to  do,  and  no  one  undertook 
to  guide.  Then  it  was,  that,  with  an  audacity  that  looked 
like  madness  (but  which  is  the  best  policy  in  time  of  peril), 
he  fearlessly  led  forth  a  small  party,  taking  the  initiative,  in 
an  encounter  with  the  Coosaws.  This  was  a  reduced  but 
brave  and  desperate  tribe,  which  had  risen,  without  any  other 
warning  than  the  war-whoop,  upon  the  Beaufort  settlement. 
His  valour  on  this  occasion,  obtained  from  the  Indians  them- 
selves the  nom  de  guerre*  of  C oosali-moray-te ,  or  the  Coosaw- 
killer.  It  was  one  that  seems  to  have  been  well  deserved,  for, 
in  that  affair,  the  tribe  nearly  suffered  annihilation,  and  but  a 
single  town,  that  of  Coosaiv-liatchie,  or  the  refuge  of  the  Coo- 
saws, was  left  them  of  all  their  possessions.  The  poor  remains 
of  their  people  from  that  time  became  incorporated  with  the 
Yemassees.  Harrison's  reckless  audacity,  cheerful  freedom, 
mingled  at  the  same  time  so  strangely  with  playfulness  and 
cool  composure,  while  exciting  the  strongest  interest,  created 
the  warmest  regard  among  the  foresters;  and,  though  in  all 
respects  of  residence  and  family  utterly  unknown  except  to 
one,  or  at  the  most,  to  two  among  them — appearing  as  he  did, 
only  now  and  then,  and  as  suddenly  disappearing — yet  all 
were  glad  when  he  came,  and  sorry  when  he  departed. 
Esteeming  him  thus,   they  gave  him  the  command  of  the 

*  War  name. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  215 

"green  jackets,"  the  small  corps  which,  in  that  neighbour- 
hood, the  affair  of  the  Coosaws  had  first  brought  into  some- 
thing like  a  regular  organization.  He  accepted  this  trust 
readily,  but  frankly  assured  his  men  that  he  might  not  be 
present — such  were  his  labours  elsewhere — at  all  times  to  dis- 
charge the  duties.  Such,  however,  was  his  popularity  among 
them,  that  a  qualification  like  this  failed  to  affect  their 
choice.  They  took  him  on  his  own  terms,  called  him  Captain 
Harrison,  or,  more  familiarly,  captain,  and  never  troubled 
themselves  for  a  single  instant  to  inquire  whether  that  were  his 
right  name  or  not ;  though,  if  they  had  any  doubts,  they  never 
suffered  them  to  reach,  certainly  never  to  offend,  the  ears  of 
their  commander.  The  pastor,  rather  more  scrupulous,  as 
he  reflected  upon  his  daughter,  and  her  affections,  lacked  some- 
thing of  this  confidence.  We  have  seen  how  his  doubts  grew 
as  his  inquiries  had  been  baffled.  The  reader,  if  he  has  not 
been  altogether  inattentive  to  the  general  progress  of  the 
narrative,  has  probably,  at  this  moment,  a  more  perfect  knowl- 
edge of  our  hero  than  either  of  these  parties. 

But  to  return.  Harrison  rode  away  into  the  neighbour- 
ing country,  all  the  settlements  of  which  he  appeared  perfectly 
to  know.  His  first  visit  in  that  quarter  had  been  the  result  of 
curiosity  in  part,  and  partly  in  consequence  of  some  public 
responsibilities  coming  with  an  official  station,  as  by  this  time 
the  reader  will  have  conjectured.  A  new  and  warmer  interest 
came  with  these  duties  soon  after  he  had  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  beautiful  Bess  Matthews ;  and  having  involved  his 
own  affections  with  that  maiden,  it  was  not  long  before  he 
found  himself  able  to  command  hers.  The  father  of  Miss 
Matthews  objected,  as  we  have  seen,  not  simply  because  noth- 
ing was  certainly  known  of  the  family  and  social  position  of 
the  lover ;  but  because  the  latter  had  by  his  free  bearing  and 
perfect  aplomb,  outraged  the  self-esteem  and  dignity  of  the 
clerical  dignitary.  But  love  seldom  seriously  listens  to  the 
objections  of  a  papa:  and  though  Bess  Matthews  was  as  duti-  V 
ful  a  damsel  as  ever  dreamed  of  happiness,  still  her  affections 
were  a  little  too  strong  for  parental  authority.  She  loved 
Gabriel  Harrison  with  a  faith  which  preferred  to  confide  where 
the  pastor  required  that  she  should  question ;  and  the  exhorta- 
tions of  the  old  gentleman  had  only  the  effect  of  increasing  a 


216  THE  YEMASSEE. 

passion  which  grows  vigorous  from  restraint,  and  acquires 
obstinacy  from  compulsion. 

But  the  lover  went  hot  forth  on  this  occasion  in  quest  of 
his  mistress.  His  labours  were  more  imposing,  if  less  grateful. 
He  went  forth  among  his  troop  and  their  families.  He  had  a 
voice  of  warning  for  all  the  neighbouring  cottagers — a  warn- 
ing of  danger,  and  an  exhortation  to  the  borderers  to  be  in  per- 
fect readiness  for  its  encounter,  at  the  well-known  signal.  But 
his  warning  was  in  a  word — an  emphatic  sentence — which,  once 
uttered,  affected  in  no  particular  his  usual  manner.  To  one 
and  another  he  had  the  cheerful  encouragement  of  the  brother 
soldier — the  dry  sarcasm  for  the  rustic  gallant — the  innocuous 
jest  to  the  half-won  maiden ;  and,  with  the  ancient  grandsire 
or  grandam,  the  exciting  inquiry  into  old  times — merry  old 
England,  or  hilarious  Ireland — or  whatever  other  foreign 
fatherland  might  claim  to  possess  their  affections. 

This  adjusted,  and  having  prepared  all  minds  for  events 
which  his  own  so  readily  foresaw — having  counselled  the  more 
exposed  and  feeble  to  the  shelter  of  the  Block  House  at  the 
hrst  sign  of  danger, — the  lover  began  to  take  the  place  of  the 
commander,  and  in  an  hour  we  find  him  in  the  ancient  grove 
— the  well-known  place  of  tryst,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
dwelling  of  old  Matthews.  And  she  was  there — the  girl  of 
seventeen — confiding,  yet  blushing  at  her  own  confidence,  with 
an  affection  as  warm  as  it  was  unqualified  and  pure.  She  hung 
upon  his  arm — she  sat  beside  him,  and  the  waters  of  the  little 
brooklet  gushed  into  music  as  they  trickled  on  by  their  feet. 
The  air  was  full  of  a  song  of  love — the  birds  sang  it — the 
leaves  sighed  it — the  earth  echoed,  in  many  a  replication,  its 
delicious  burden,  and  they  felt  it.  There  is  no  life,  if  there 
be  no  love.  Love  is  the  life  of  nature — all  is  unnatural  with- 
out it.  The  golden  bowl  has  no  wine,  if  love  be  not  at  its  bot- 
tom— the  instrument  has  no  music  if  love  come  not  with  the 
strain.  "  Let  me  perish,  let  me  perish,"  was  the  murmured 
chant  of  Harrison,  "  when  I  cease  to  love — when  others  cease 
to  love  me." 

So  thought  the  two — so  felt  they — and  an  hour  of  delicious 
dreaming  threw  into  their  mutual  souls  a  linked  hope,  which 
promised  not  merely  a  future  and  a  lasting  union  to  their 


THE  YEMASSEE.  217 

forms,  but  an  undecaying  life  to  their  affections.    They  felt  in 
reality  that  love  must  be  the  life  of  heaven ! 

"  Thou  unmann'st  me,  Bess — thou  dost,  my  Armida* — the 
air  is  enchanted  about  thee,  and  the  active  energy  which  keeps 
me  ever  in  motion  when  away  from  thee,  is  gone,  utterly  gone, 
when  thou  art  nigh.  I  could  now  lie  clown  in  these  delicious 
gropes,  and  dream  away  the  hours — dream  away  life.  Do 
nothing  but  dream!  Wherefore  is  it  so?  Thou  art  my 
tyrant — I  am  weak  before  thee — full  of  fears,  Bess — timid 
as  a  child  in  the  dark." 

"  Full  of  hopes  too,  Gabriel,  is  it  not  ?  And  what  is  the 
hope  if  there  be  no  fear — no  doubt?  They  sweeten  each 
other.  I  thy  tyrant,  indeed — when  thou  movest  me  as  thou 
wiliest.  When  I  have  eyes  only  for  thy  coming,  and  tears 
only  at  thy  departure/' 

"And  hast  thou  these  always,  Bess,  for  such  occasions? 
Do  thy  smiles  always  hail  the  one,  and  thy  tears  always 
follow  the  other? — I  doubt,  Bess,  if  always." 

"  And  wherefore  doubt — thou  hast  .eyes  for  mine,  and  canst 
see  for  thyself." 

"  True,  but  knowest  thou  not  that  the  lover  looks  most 
commonly  for  the  beauty,  and  not  often  for  the  sentiment  of 
his  sweetheart's  face?  It  is  this  which  they  mean  when  the 
poets  tell  of  love's  blindness.  The  light  of  thine  eye  dims 
and  dazzles  the  gaze  of  mine,  and  I  must  take  the  tale  from 
thy  lips — " 

"  And  safely  thou  mayest,  Gabriel — " 

"  May  I — F  hardly  looked  to  find  thee  so  consenting,  Bess — " 
exclaimed  the  lover,  taking  her  response  in  a  signification 
rather  at  variance  with  that  which  she  contemplated,  and, 
before  she  was  aware,  warmly  pressing  her  rosy  mouth  beneath 
his  own. 

"  Xot  so — not  so — "  confused  and  blushing  she  exclaimed, 
withdrawing  quickly  from  his  grasp.    "  I  meant  to  say — " 

"  I  know — I  know. — thou  wouldst  have  said,  I  might  safely 
trust  to  the  declaration  of  thy  lips — and  so  I  do,  Bess — and 
want  no  other  assurance.     I  am  happy  that  thy  words  were 

*  An  enchantress  in  Tasso's  Jerusalem  Delivered  who  used  her 
charms  to  seduce  the  crusaders  from  their  vows  and  their  duty. 


218  THE  YEMASSEE. 

indirect,  but  I  am  better  assured  as  it  is,  of  what  thou 
wouldst  have  said." 

"  Thou  wilt  not  love  me,  Gabriel,  that  thus  I  favour  thee 
— thou  seest  how  weak  is  the  poor  heart  which  so  waits  upon 
thine,  and  wilt  cease  to  love  what  is  so  quickly  won." 

"  It  is  so  pretty,  thy  chiding,  Bess,  that  to  have  thee  go 
on,  it  were  well  to  take  another  assurance  from  thy  lips." 

"  Now,  thou  shalt  not — it  is  not  right,  Gabriel ;  besides  my 
father  has  said — " 

"  What  he  should  not  have  said,  and  will  be  sorry  for 
saying.  He  has  said  that  he  knows  me  not,  and  indeed  he  does 
not,  and  shall  not,  so  long  as  in  my  thought  it  is  unnecessary, 
and  perhaps  unwise  that  I  should  be  known  to  him." 

"But,  why  not  to  me — why  shouldst  thou  keep  thy  secret 
from  me,  Gabriel?  Thou  couldst  surely  trust  it  to  my 
keeping." 

"  Aye,  safely,  I  know,  were  it  proper  for  thee  to  know  any 
thing  which  a  daughter  should  of  right  withhold  from  a 
father.  But  as  I  may  not  give  my  secret  to  him,  I  keep  it 
from  thee ;  not  fearing  thy  integrity,  but  as  thou  shouldst  not 
hold  a  trust  without  sharing  thy  confidence  with  a  parent. 
Trust  me,  ere  long  he  shall  know  all ;  but  now,  I  may  not  tell 
him  or  thee.  I  may  not  speak  a  name  in  this  neighbourhood, 
where,  if  I  greatly  err  not,  its  utterance  would  make  me  fine 
spoil  for  the  cunning  Indians,  who  are  about  some  treachery." 

"  What,  the  Yemassees  ?  " 

"  Even  they,  and  of  this  I  would  have  you  speak  to  your 
father.  I  would  not  foolishly  alarm  you,  but  go  to  him. 
Persuade  him  to  depart  for  the  Block  House,  where  I  have 
been  making  preparations  for  your  comfort.  Let  him  only 
secure  you  all  till  this  vessel  takes  herself  off.  By  that  time 
we  shall  see  how  things  go." 

"  But  what  has  this  vessel  to  do  with  it,  Gabriel  ?  " 

"  A  great  deal,  Bess,  if  my  apprehensions  are  well  grounded ; 
but  the  reasons  are  tedious  by  which  I  come  to  think  so, 
and  would  only  fatigue  your  ear." 

"Not  so,  Gabriel — I  would  like  to  hear  them,  for  of  this 
vessel,  or  rather  of  her  captain,  my  father  knows  something. 
He  knew  him  well  in  England." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  219 

Aye  !  "  eagerly  responded  Harrison — "  I  heard  that,  you 
know ;  but,  in  reality,  what  is  he  ? — who  is  he  ?  " 

"  His  name  is  Chorley,  as  you  have  heard  him  say.  My 
father  knew  him  when  both  were  young.  They  come  from 
the  same  part  of  the  country.  He  was  a  wild,  ill-bred 
profligate,  so  my  father  said,  in  his  youth;  unmanageable, 
irregular — left  his  parents,  and  without  their  leave  went  into 
a  ship  and  became  a  sailor.  For  many  years  nothing  was  seen 
of  him — by  my  father  at  least — until  the  other  day,  when,  by 
some  I  means  or  other,  he  heard  of  us,  and  made  himself 
known  just  before  your  appearance.  I  never  saw  him  to 
know  or  remember  him  before,  but  he  knew  me  when  a 
child/' 

"  And  do  you  know  what  he  is — and  his  vessel  ?  M 

"  Nothing  but  this.  He  makes  voyages  from  St.  Augustine 
and  Cuba,  and  trades  almost  entirely  with  the  Spaniards  in 
that  quarter." 

"But  why  should  he  have  no  connexion  here  with  us  of 
that  nature,  or  why  is  he  here  at  all  if  his  business  be  not  with 
our  people?  And  it  seems  that  he  hath  no  traffic  with  us — 
no  communion  for  us.  though  he  doth  apparently  commune 
with  the  red  men.  This  is  one  of  the  grounds  of  my  appre- 
hension— not  to  speak  of  the  affair  of  Hector,  which  is  enough 
of  itself  to  prove  him  criminal  of  purpose." 

"  Ah — his  crew  is  ignorant  of  the  language,  and  then  he 
says,  so  he  told  us,  he  seeks  to  trade  for  furs  with  the  Indians." 

"  Still  not  enough.  Xone  of  these  reasons  are  sufficient  to 
keep  his  vessel  from  the  landing,  his  men  from  the  shore, 
and  himself  mysteriously  rambling  in  the  woods  without  offer- 
ing at  any  object,  unless  it  be  the  smuggling  of  our  slaves.  I 
doubt  not  he  comes  to  deal  with  the  Indians,  but  he  comes  as 
an  emissary  from  the  Spaniards,  and  it  is  our  skins  and  scalps 
he   is   after,   if   any  thing." 

"  Speak  not  so,  Gabriel,  you  frighten  me." 

"  Nay,  fear  not.  There  is  no  danger  if  we  keep  our  eyes 
open,  and  can  get  your  obstinate  old  precisian  of  a  father  to 
open  his." 

"  Hush,  Gabriel,  remember  he  is  my  father."  And  she 
looked  the  rebuke  which  her  lips  uttered. 

"  Aye,  Bess,  I  do  remember  it,  or  I  would  not  bother  my 


220  THE  YEMASSEE. 

head  five  seconds  about  him.  I  should  gather  you  up  in  my 
arms  as  the  Pagan  of  old  gathered  up  his  domestic  gods  when 
the  earthquake  came,  and  be  off  with  you  without  long  delib- 
erating whether  a  father  were  necessary  to  your  happiness  or 
not/' 

"  Speak  not  so  lightly,  Gabriel,  the  subject  is  too  serious  for 
jest." 

"  It  is,  Bess,  quite  too  serious  for  jest,  and  I  do  not  jest,  or 
if  I  do  I  can't  help  it.  I  was  born  a  jester,  after  a  fashion. 
That  is  to  say,  I  am  somewhat  given  to  mixing  my  laughter 
with  my  sorrows;  and  my  wisdom,  if  I  have  any,  is  always 
mingled  with  my  smiles,  without,  I  trust,  forfeiting  any  of  its 
own  virtue  by  the  mixture.  This,  indeed,  is  one  of  your  father's 
objections  to  me  as  your  suitor.  He  thinks  me  irreverent 
when  I  am  only  cheerful.  I  do  not  tie  up  my  visage  when  I 
look  upon  you,  as  if  I  sickened  of  the  thing  I  looked  on — 
and  he  well  knows  how  I  detest  that  hypocritical  moral 
starch,  with  which  our  would-be  saints  contrive  to  let  the 
world  see  that  sunshine  is  sin,  and  a  smile  of  inborn  felicity  a 
defiance  thrown  in  the  teeth  of  the  very  God  that  prompts  it." 

"But  my  father  is  no  hypocrite,  Gabriel." 

"Then  why  hoist  his  colours?  He  is  too  good  a  man, 
Bess,  to  be  the  instrument  of  hypocrisy,  and  much  I  fear  me 
that  he  sometimes  is.  He  has  too  much  of  the  regular  round- 
head— the  genuine,  never-end-the-sermon  manner  of  an  old 
Noll  sanctifier.*  I  would  forego  a  kiss — the  sweetest,  Bess, 
that  thy  lips  could  give — to  persuade  the  old  man,  your  father, 
but  for  a  single  moment,  into  a  hearty,  manly,  honest,  unso- 
phisticated, downright  laugh.  A  man  that  can  laugh  out 
honestly  and  heartily  is  not  wholly  evil,  I  am  sure." 

"  It  is  true,  Gabriel,  he  laughs  not,  but  then  he  does  not 
frown." 

"Not  at  thee,  Bess,  not  at  thee :  who  could  ?  But  he  does 
at  me,  most  ferociously,  and  his  mouth  puckers  up  when  his 

*  Noll,  a  nickname  for  Oliver,  came  to  be  applied  specifically 
to  Oliver  Cromwell,  who  was  also  known  as  Old  Noll.  Because 
of  Cromwell's  religious  zeal,  however,  and  that  of  his  followers, 
the  term  developed  into  one  of  derision  and  was  applied  by  the 
enemies  of  Cromwell  and  of  the  Puritans  to  any  over-zealous 
Christian.    Hence  the  derisive  significance  of  Noll  sanctifier  here. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  221 

eye  rises  to  mine,  in  all  the  involutions  of  a  pine  bur.  But 
forgive  me  :  it  is  not  of  this  I  would  speak  now.  I  will  forgive, 
though  I  may  not  forget  his  sourness,  if  you  can  persuade  him 
into  a  little  caution  at  the  present  moment.  There  is  danger, 
I  am  sure,  and  to  him  and  you  particularly.  Your  situation 
here  is  an  exposed  one.  This  sailor-friend  or  acquantance  of 
yours,  is  no  friend  if  he  deal  with  the  Spaniards  of  St. 
Augustine;  is  most  certainly  an  enemy,  and  most  probably  a 
pirate."  I  suspect  him  to  be  the  latter,  and  have  my  eyes  on 
him  accordingly.  As  to  the  trade  with  the  Indians  that  he 
talks  of,  it  is  all  false,  else  why  should  he  lie  here  so  many 
days  without  change  of  position  or  any  open  intercourse  with 
them  ?  And  then,  what  better  evidence  against  him  than  the 
kidnapping  of  Hector  ?  " 

"But  he  has  changed  his  position — his  vessel  has  gone 
higher  up  the  river." 
"  Since  when  ?  " 

"  Within  the  last  three  hours.  Her  movement  was  pointed 
out  by  my  father  as  we  stood  together  on  the  bluff  fronting  the 
house." 

"Indeed,  this  must  be  seen  to,  and  requires  despatch. 
Come  with  me,  Bess.  To  your  father  at  once,  and  say  your 
strongest  fears  and  look  your  sweetest  loves.  Be  twice  as 
timid  as  necessary,  utter  a  thousand  fears  and  misgivings,  so 
that  we  may  peruade  him  to  the  shelter  of  the  Block  House." 

"Where  I  may  be  as  much  as  possible  in  the  company  of 
Master  Gabriel  Harrision.  Is  it  not  so?  "  and  she  looked  up 
archly  into  his  face.  For  once  the  expression  of  his  look  was 
grave,  and  his  eye  gazed  deeply  down  into  her  own.  With  a 
sobriety  of  manner  not  unmixed  with  solemnity,  he  spoke — 

"  Ah,  Bess,  if  I  lose  thee,  I  am  myself  lost !  But  come  with 
me,  I  will  see  thee  to  the  wicket,  safe,  ere  I  leave  thee,  beyond 
the  province  of  the  rattlesnake." 

"Speak  not  of  that,"  she  quickly  replied,  with  an  invol- 
untary shudder,  looking  around  her  as  she  spoke,  to  the  neigh- 
bouring: wood,  which  was  now  more  than  ever  present  to  her 
mind,  with  the  memories  of  that  scene  of  terror.  Harrison 
conducted  her  to  the  end  of  the  grove,  within  sight  of  her 
father's  cottage,  and  his  last  words  at  leaving  her  were  those 
of  urgent  entreaty,  touching  her  removal  to  the  Block  House. 


222  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

But  Bess  Matthews  was  not  left  to  solitude,  though  left  by 
her  lover.  A  new  party  came  upon  the  scene,  in  the  person  of 
Hugh  Grayson,  emerging  from  the  neighbouring  copse,  from 
the  cover  of  which  he  had  witnessed  the  greater  portion  of  the 
interview  between  Harrison  and  the  maiden.  This  unhappy 
young  man,  always  a  creature  of  the  fiercest  impulses,  in  a 
moment  of  the  wildest  delirium  of  that  passion  for  Bess  which 
had  so  completely  swallowed  up  his  better  judgment,  not  less 
than  all  sense  of  high  propriety,  had  been  guilty,  though 
almost  unconscious  at  the  time  of  the  woful  error,  of  a  degree 
of  espionage,  for  which,  the  moment  after,  he  felt  many 
rebukings  of  shame  and  conscience.  Hurried  on,  however,  by 
the  impetuous  impulse  of  the  passion  so  distracting  him,  the 
fine  sense,  which  should  have  been  an  impassable  barrier, 
risiug  up  like  a  wall  in  the  way  of  such  an  act,  had  foregone 
its  better  control  for  the  moment,  and  he  had  lingered  suffi- 
ciently long  under  cover  to  incur  the  stigma,  as  he  now  cer- 
tainly felt  the  shame,  of  having  played  the  part  of  a  spy.  But 
his  error  had  its  punishment  even  in  its  own  progress.  He 
had  seen  that  which  contributed  still  more  to  increase  his 
mortification,  and  to  embitter  his  soul  against  the  more  suc- 
cessful rival,  whose  felicities  he  had  beheld — scarcely  able  to 
clench  the  teeth  in  silence  which  laboured  all  the  while  to 
gnash  in  agony.  With  a  cheek  in  which  shame  and  a  pur- 
poseless fury  alike  showed  themselves,  and  seemed  struggling 
for  mastery,  he  now  came  forward;  and  approaching  the 
maiden,  addressed  her  as  he  did  so  with  some  common  phrase 
of  formal  courtesy,  which  had  the  desired  effect  of  making  her 
pause  for  his  approach.  He  steeled  his  quivering  muscles  into 
something  like  rigidity,  while  a  vain  and  vague  effort  at  a 
smile,  like  lightning  from  the  cloud,  strove  visibly  upon  his 
features. 

"  It  is  not  solitude,  then,"  said  he,  "  that  brings  Miss  Mat- 
thews into  the  forest.  Its  shelter — its  secrecy  alone,  is  perhaps 
its  highest  recommendation." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  223 

"What  is  it  that  you  mean,  Master  Grayson,  by  your 
words  ?"  replied  the  maiden,  while  something  of  a  blush 
tinged  slightly  the  otherwise  pale  and  lily  complexion  of  her 

face. 

"  Surely  I  have  spoken  nothing  mysterious.  My  thought 
is  plain  enough,  I  should  think,  were  my  only  evidence  in  the 
cheek  of  Miss  Matthews  herself." 

"  My  cheek  speaks  nothing  for  me,  Master  Grayson,  which 
my  tongue  should  shame  to  utter;  and  if  you  have  spoken 
simply  in  reference  to  Gabriel — Master  Harrison  I  mean — 
you  have  been  at  much  unnecessary  trouble.  Methinks  too, 
there  is  something  in  your  own  face  that  tells  of  a  misplaced 
watchfulness  on  your  part,  where  your  neighbour  holds  no 
watch  to  be  necessary." 

"  You  are  right,  Miss  Matthews — you  are  right.  There  is — 
there  should  be,  at  least— in  my  face,  acknowledgment  enough 
of  the  baseness  which  led  me  as  a  spy  upon  your  path — upon 
his  path ! "  replied  the  young  man,  while  his  cheek  grew  once 
more  alternately  from  ashes  to  crimson.  "  It  was  base,  it 
was  unmanly — but  it  has  had  its  punishment — its  sufficient 
punishment,  believe  me — in  the  discovery  which  it  has  made. 
I  have  seen  that,  Miss  Matthews,  which  I  would  not  willingly 
have  seen;  and  which  the  fear  to  see,  alone,  prompted  to  the 
accursed  survey.  Pardon  me.  then — pity  me,  pity  if  you  can 
— though  I  can  neither  well  pardon  nor  pity  myself." 

"  I  do  pardon  you.  sir — freely  pardon  you — for  an  error 
which  I  should  not  have  thought  it  in  your  nature  intention- 
ally to  commit ;  but  what  to  pity  you  for,  saving  for  the  self- 
reproach  which  must  come  with  your  consciousness,  I  do  not 
so  well  see.    Your  language  is  singular,  Master  Grayson." 

"  Indeed  !  TVould  I  could  be  so  blind  !  You  have  not  seen, 
then — you  know  not  ?  Look  at  me,  Miss  Matthews — is  there 
no  madness  in  my  eyes — on  my  tongue — in  look,  word,  action  ? 
Have   I   not   raved   in  your  ears — never  ?  M 

"  No,  as  I  live,  never !  "  responded  the  astonished  maiden. 
"  Speak  not  in  this  manner,  Master  Grayson— but  leave  me— 
permit  me  to  retire." 

"  What !  you  would  go  to  him  once  more  !  "  he  uttered  with 
a  sarcastic \grin.  "You  would  follow  him! — Recall  him! 
Hear  me,  Bess  Matthews.    Do  you  know  him— this  stranger — 


224  THE  YEMASSEE. 

this  adventurer — this  haughty  pretender,  whose  look  is  pre- 
sumption ?  Would  you  trust  to  him  you  know  not  ?  What  is 
he?  Can  you  confide  in  one  whom  nobody  speaks  for — 
whom  nobody  knows?  Would  you  throw  yourself  upon  ruin 
— into  the  arms  of  a  stranger — a — " 

"  Sir,  Master  Grayson — this  is  a  liberty — " 

"  License,  rather,  lady !  The  license  of  madness ;  for  I  am 
mad,  though  you  see  it  not — an  abandoned  madman; 
degraded,  as  you  have  seen,  and  almost  reckless  of  all  things 
and  thoughts,  as  all  may  see  in  time.  God  !  is  it  not  true  ? 
True  it  is,  and  you — you,  Bess  Matthews — you  are  the 
cause/' 

"  I  ? — "  replied  the  maiden,  in  unmixed  astonishment. 

"  Aye,  you.  Hear  me.  I  love — I  loved  you,  Miss  Matthews 
— have  long  loved  you.  We  have  been  together  almost  from 
infancy;  and  I  had  thought — forgive  the  vanity  of  that 
thought,  Bess  Matthews — I  had  thought  that  you  might  not 
altogether  have  been  unkind  to  me.  For  years  I  had  this 
thought — did  you  not  know  it? — for  years  I  lived  on  in  the 
sweet  hope — the  dear  promise  which  it  hourly  brought  me — 
for  years  I  had  no  life,  if  I  had  not  this  expectation !  In  an 
evil  hour  came  this  stranger — this  Harrison — it  is  not  long 
since — and  from  that  moment  I  trembled.  It  was  an  instinct 
that  taught  me  to  fear,  who  had  never  feared  before.  I  saw, 
yet  dreaded  to  believe  in  what  I  saw.  I  suspected,  and  shrunk 
back  in  terror  from  my  own  suspicions.  But  they  haunted 
me  like  so  many  damned  spectres.  They  were  everywhere 
around  me,  goading  me  to  madness.  In  my  mood,  under  this 
spur,  I  sunk  into  the  spy.  I  became  degraded, — and  saw  all 
— all !  I  saw  his  lip  resting  upon  yours — warmly,  passion- 
ately— and  yours, — yours  grew  to  its  pressure,  Bess  Matthews, 
and  did  not  seek  to  be  withdrawn." 

"  No  more  of  this,  Master  Grayson — thou  hast  thought 
strange  and  foolish  things,  and  though  they  surprise  me,  I 
forgive  them — I  forgive  thee.  Thou  hadst  no  reason  to  think 
that  I  was  more  to  thee  than  to  a  stranger,  that  I  could  be 
more — and  I  feel  not  any  self-reproach,  for  I  have  done 
naught  and  said  naught  which  could  have  ministered  to  thy 
error.  Thy  unwise,  not  to  say  thy  unbecoming  and  unmanly 
curiosity,  Master  Grayson,  makes  me  the  less  sorry  that  thou 


THE  YEMASSEE.  225 

shouldst   know   a   truth   which   thou   findest    so   painful   to 

know." 

"  Oh,  be  less  proud— less  stern,  Bess  Matthews.  Thou  hast 
taken  from  this  haughty  stranger  some  of  his  bold  assump- 
tion of  superiority,  till  thou  even  f orgettest  that  erring  affec- 
tion may  have  its  claim  upon  indulgence." 

"But  not  upon  justice.  I  am  not  proud— thou  dost  me 
wrong,  Master  Grayson,  and  canst  neither  understand  me  nor 
the  noble  gentleman  of  whom  thy  words  are  disrespectful." 

"  And  what  is  he,  that  I  should  respect  him  ?  Am  I  not  as 
free — a  man, — an  honest  man — and  what  is  he  more, — 
even  if  he  be  so  much  ?  Is  he  more  ready  to  do  and  to  dare 
for  thee?— Is  he  stronger ?— Will  he  fight  for  thee?     Ha!  if 

he  will!—" 

"  Thou  shalt  make  me  no  game-prize,  even  m  thy  thought, 
Master  Grayson— and  thy  words  are  less  than  grateful  to  my 
ears.     Wilt  thou  not  leave  me  ?  " 

"Disrespectful  to  him,  indeed— a  proud  and  senseless 
swaggerer,  presuming  upon  his  betters.     I — " 

"  Silence,  sir !  think  what  is  proper  to  manhood,  and  try  to 
appear  that  which  thou  art  not,"  exclaimed  the  aroused 
maiden,  in  a  tone  which  completely  startled  her  companion, 
while  she  gathered  herself  up  to  her  fullest  height,  and  waved 
him  off  with  her  hand.  "  Go,  sir— thou  hast  presumed  greatly, 
and  thy  words  are  those  of  a  ruffian,  as  thy  late  conduct  has 
been  that  of  the  hireling  and  the  spy.  Thou  think  that  I  loved 
thee !— that  I  thought  of  a  spirit  so  ignoble  as  thine ;— and 
it  is  such  as  thou  that  wouldst  slander  and  defame  my 
Gabriel,— he,  whose  most  wandering  thought  could  never  com- 
pass the  tithe  of  that  baseness  which  makes  up  thy  whole 

soul." 

And  as  she  spoke  the  words  of  such  bitter  import,  her  eye 
flashed  and  the  beautiful  lips  curled  in  corresponding  indigna- 
tion, while  her  entire  expression  of  countenance  was  that  of 
a  divine  rebuke.  The  offender  trembled  with  convulsive  and 
contradictory  emotions,  and,  for  a  few  moments  after  her 
retort  had  been  uttered,  remained  utterly  speechless.  He 
felt  the  justice  of  her  severity,  though  every  thought  and  feel- 
ing, in  that  instant,  taught  him  how  unequal  he  was  to  sus- 
tain it.    He  had,  in  truth,  spoken  without  clear  intent,  and 


226  THE  YEMASSEE. 

his  language  had  been  in  no  respect  under  the  dominion  of 
reason.  But  he  regained  his  energies  as  he  beheld  her,  with 
an  eye  still  flashing  fire  and  a  face  covered  with  inexpressible 
dignity,  moving  scornfully  away.  He  recovered,  though  with 
a  manner  wild  and  purposeless — his  hands  and  eyes  lifted 
imploringly — and  chokingly,  thus   addressed  her: — 

"  Leave  me  not — not  in  anger,  Bess  Matthews,  I  implore 
you.  I  have  done  you  wrong — done  him  wrong,  perhaps ;  and 
I  am  bitterly  sorry ! — "  it  was  with  a  desperate  rapidity  that 
he  uttered  the  last  passage — "  I  have  spoken  unjustly,  and  like 
a  madman.  But  forgive  me.  Leave  me  not  with  an  unlor- 
giving  thought,  since,  in  truth,  I  regret  my  error  as  deeply 
as  3'ou  can  possibly  reprove  it." 

Proud  and  lofty  in  her  sense  of  propriety,  the  affections  of 
Bess  Matthews  were,  nevertheless,  not  less  gentle  than  her 
soul  was  high.  She  at  once  turned  to  the  speaker,  and  the 
prayer  was  granted  by  her  glance,  ere  her  lips  had  spoken. 

"  I  do — I  do  forgive  thee,  Master  Grayson,  in  considera- 
tion of  the  time  when  we  were  both  children.  But  thou  hast 
said  bitter  words  in  mine  ear,  which  thou  wilt  not  hold  it 
strange  if  I  do  not  over-soon  forget.  But  doubt  not  that 
I  do  forgive  thee ;  and  pray  thee  for  thy  own  sake — for  thy 
good  name,  and  thy  duty  to  thyself  and  to  the  good  under- 
standing which  thou  hast,  and  the  honourable  feeling  which 
thou  shouldst  have, — that  thou  err  not  again  so  sadly. 
Greatly  do  I  sorrow  that  thou  shouldst  waste  thy  thoughts 
on  me — thy  affections.  Recover  them,  I  pray  thee,  and  find 
some  one  more  worthy  and  more  willing  to  requite  thy  love." 

He  seized  her  hand  convulsively,  gave  it  a  swift,  hard  pres- 
sure, then  resigned  it  as  suddenly,  and  exclaimed — 

"  I  thank  thee !  I  thank  thee ! "  he  rushed  away,  and  was 
soon  buried  from  sight  in  the  adjacent  thicket. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  227 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Bred  up  amid  privation,  and  tutored  as  much  by  its 
necessities  as  by  a  careful  superintendence,  Bess  Matthews  was 
a  girl  of  courage,  not  less  than  of  feeling.  She  could  endure 
and  enjoy ;  and  the  two  capacities  were  so  happily  balanced  in 
her  character,  that,  while  neither  of  them  invaded  the 
authority  of  the  other,  they  yet  happily  neutralized  any  tend- 
ency to  excess  on  either  side.  Still,  however,  her  suscepti- 
bilities were  great;  for  at  seventeen  the  affections  are  not  apt 
to  endure  much  provocation;  and,  deeply  distressed  with  the 
previous  scene,  and  with  that  gentleness  which  was  her  nature, 
she  grieved  sincerely  at  the  condition  of  a  youth,  of  whom 
she  had  heretofore  thought  so  favourably — but  not  to  such 
a  degree  as  to  warrant  the  hope  which  he  had  entertained, 
and  certainly  without  having  held  out  to  him  any  show  of 
encouragement — she  re-entered  her  father's  dwelling,  and 
immediately  proceeded  to  her  chamber.  Though  too  much 
excited  by  her  thoughts  to  enter  with  her  father  upon  the 
topic  suggested  by  Harrison,  and  upon  which  he  had  dwelt 
with  such  emphasis,  she  was  yet  strong  and  calm  enough 
for  a  close  self-examination.  Had  she  said  or  done  anything 
which  might  have  misled  Hugh  Grayson?  This  was  the 
question  which  her  fine  sense  of  justice  not  less  than  of 
maidenly  propriety,  dictated  for  her  answer ;  and  with  that 
close  and  calm  analysis  of  her  own  thoughts  and  feelings, 
which  must  always  be  the  result  of  a  due  acquisition  of  just 
principles  in  education,  she  referred  to  all  those  unerring 
standards  of  the  mind  which  virtue  and  common  sense  estab- 
lish, for  the  satisfaction  of  her  conscience,  against  those  sugges- 
tions of  doubt  with  which  her  feelings  had  assailed  it,  on  the 
subject  of  her  relations  with  that  person.  Her  feelings  grew 
more  and  more  composed  as  the  scrutiny  progressed,  and 
she  rose  at  last  from  the  couch  upon  which  she  had  thrown 
herself,  with  a  heart  lightened  at  least  of  the  care  which  a 
momentary  doubt  of  its  own  propriety  had  inspired. 


228  THE  YEMASSEE. 

There  was  another  duty  to  perform,  which  also  had  its 
difficulties.  She  sought  her  father  in  the  adjoining  chamber, 
and  if  she  blushed  in  the  course,  of  the  recital,  in  justice  to 
maidenly  delicacy,  she  at  least  did  not  scruple  to  narrate  fully 
in  his  ears  all  the  particulars  of  her  recent  meeting  with 
Harrison,  with  a  sweet  regard  to  maidenly  truth.  We  do  not 
pretend  to  say  that  she  dwelt  upon  details,  or  gave  the  ques- 
tionb  and  replies — the  musings  and  the  madnesses  of  the  con- 
versation— for  Bess  had  experience  enough  to  know  that  in 
old  ears,  such  matters  are  usually  tedious  enough,  and  in  this 
respect,  they  differ  sadly  from  young  ones.  She  made  no 
long  story  of  the  meeting,  though  she  freely  told  the  whole; 
and  with  all  her  warmth  and  earnestness,  as  Harrison  had 
counselled,  she  proceeded  to  advise  her  father  of  the  dangers 
from  the  Indians,  precisely  as  her  lover  had  counselled  herself. 

The  old  man  heard,  and  was  evidently  less  than  satisfied 
with  the  frequency  with  which  the  parties  met.  He  had  not 
denied  Bess  this  privilege — he  was  not  stern  enough  for  that ; 
and,  possibly,  knowing  his  daughter's  character  not  less  than 
her  heart,  he  was  by  no  means  unwilling  to  confide  freely  in 
her.  But  still  he  exhorted,  in  good  set  but  general  language, 
rather  against  Harrison  than  with  direct  reference  to  the 
intimacy  between  the  two.  He  gave  his  opinion  on  that  sub- 
ject too,  unfavourably  to  the  habit,  though  without  uttering 
any  distinct  command.  As  he  went  on  and  warmed  with  uis 
own  eloquence,  his  help-mate, — an  excellent  old  lady,  who 
loved  her  daughter  too  well  to  see  her  tears  and  be  silent — ■ 
joined  freely  in  the  discourse,  and  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
question :  so  that,  on  a  small  scale,  we  are  favoured  with  the 
glimpse  of  a  domestic  flurry,  a  slight  summer  gust,  which 
ruffles  to  compose,  and  irritates  to  smoothe  and  pacify. 
Hough  enough  for  a  little  while,  it  was  happily  of  no  great 
continuance ;  for  the  old  people  had  lived  too  long  together, 
and  were  quite  too  much  dependent  on  their  mutual  sym- 
pathies, to  suffer  themselves  to  play  long  at  cross  purposes. 
In  ceasing  to  squabble,  however,  Mrs.  Matthews  gave  up  no 
point ;  and  was  too  much  interested  in  the  present  subject 
readily  to  forego  the  argument  upon  it.  She  differed  entirely 
from  her  husband  with  regard  to  Harrison,  and  readily  sided 
with  her  daughter  in  favouring  his  pretensions.     He  had  a 


THE  YEMASSEE.  229 

happy  and  singular  knack  of  endearing  himself  to  most 
people;  and  the  very  levity  which  made  him  distasteful  to  the 
pastor,  was,  strange  to  say,  one  of  the  chief  influences  which 
commended  him  to  his  lady. 

"  Bess  is  wrong,  my  dear/'  at  length  said  the  pastor,  in  a 
tone  and  manner  meant  to  be  conclusive  on  the  subject — 
"  Bess   is   wrong — decidedly   wrong.      We   know  nothing   of 
Master  Harrison — neither  of  his  family  nor  of  his  pursuits— 
and  she  should  not  encourage  him." 

"  Bess  is  right,  Mr.  Matthews,"  responded  the  old  lady, 
with  a  doggedness  of  manner  meant  equally  to  close  the  con- 
troversy, as  she  wound  upon  her  fingers,  from  a  little  skreel  in 
her  lap,  a  small  volume  of  the  native  silk.* — "  Bess  is  right — 
Captain  Harrison  is  a  nice  gentleman — always  so  lively, 
always  so  polite,  and  so  pleasant.  I  declare,  I  don't  see  why 
you  don't  like  him,  and  it  must  be  only  because  you  love  to 
go   against   all   other  people." 

"And  so,  my  dear,"  gently  enough  responded  the  pastor, 
"you  would  have  Bess  married  to  a — nobody  knows  who  or 
what." 

"Why,  dear  me,  John — what  is  it  you  don't  know?     I'm 

*  The  culture  of  silk  was  commenced  in  South  Carolina  as  far 
back  as  the  year  1702,  and  thirteen  years  before  the  date  of  this 
narrative.  It  was  introduced  by  Sir  Nathaniel  Johnston,  then 
holding  the  government  of  the  province  under  the  lords  proprie- 
tors. This  gentleman,  apart  from  his  own  knowledge  of  the  sus- 
ceptibility, for  its  production,  of  that  region,  derived  a  stimulus 
to  the  prosecution  of  the  enterprise  from  an  exceeding  great 
demand  then  prevailing  in  England  for  the  article.  The  spon- 
taneous and  free  growth  of  the  mulberry  in  all  parts  of  the 
southern  country  first  led  to  the  idea  that  silk  might  be  made 
an  important  item  in  the  improving  list  of  its  products.  For 
a  time  he  had  every  reason  to  calculate  upon  the  entire  success 
of  the  experiment,  but  after  a  while,  the  pursuit  not  becoming 
immediately  productive,  did  not  consort  with  the  impatient  nature 
of  the  southrons,  and  was  given  over — when  perhaps  wanting 
but  little  of  complete  success.  The  experiment,  however,  was 
prosecuted  sufficiently  long  to  show,  though  it  d*d  not  become  an 
object  of  national  importance,  how  much  might,  with  proper 
energy,  be  done  towards  making  it  such.  Of  late  days,  a  new 
impulse  has  been  given  to  the  trial,  and  considerable  quantities 
of  silk  are  annually  made  in  the  middle  country  of  South  Carolina 
[Simms's  Note]. 


230  THE  YEMASSEE. 

sure  I  know  everything  I  want  to  know  about  the  captain. 
His  name's  Harrison — and — " 

"What  more?"  inquired  the  pastor  with  a  smile,  seeing 
that  the  old  lady  had  finished  her  silk  and  speech  at  the  same 
moment. 

"  Why  nothing,  John — but  what  we  do  know,  you  will 
admit,  is  highly  creditable  to  him;  and  so,  I  do  not  see  why 
you  should  be  so  quick  to  restrain  the  young  people,  when 
we  can  so  easily  require  to  know  all  that  is  necessary  before 
we  consent,  or  any  decisive  step  is  taken." 

"  But,  my  dear,  the  decisive  step  is  taken  when  the  affections 
of  our  daughter  are  involved." 

The  old  lady  could  say  nothing  to  this,  but  she  had  her 
word. 

"  He  is  such  a  nice,  handsome  gentleman,  John." 

"  Handsome  is  as  handsome  does ! "  sneered  the  pastor, 
through  a  homely  proverb. 

"  Well,  but  John,  he's  in  no  want  of  substance.  He  has 
money,  good  gold  in  plenty,  for  I've  seen  it  myself — and  I'm 
sure  that's  a  sight  for  sore  eyes,  after  we've  been  looking  so 
long  at  the  brown  paper  that  the  Assembly  have  been  print- 
ing, and  which  they  call  money.*  Gold  now  is  money,  John, 
and  Captain  Harrison  always  has  it." 

"  It  would  be  well  to  know  where  it  comes  from,"  doggedly 
muttered  the  pastor. 

"  Oh,  John,  John — where's  all  your  religion?  How  can  you 
talk  so?  You  are  only  vexed  now — I'm  certain  that's  it— 
because  Master  Harrison  won't  satisfy  your  curiosity." 

"  Elizabeth !  " 

"  Well,  don't  be  angry  now,  John.  I  didn't  mean  that 
exactly,  but  really  you  are  so  uncharitable.  It's  neither  sensi- 
ble nor  Christian  in  you.  Why  will  you  be  throwing  up  hills 
upon  hills  in  the  way  of  Bess's  making  a  good  match  ?  " 

"  Is  it  a  good  match,  Elizabeth  ? — that  is  the  very  point 
which  makes  me  firm." 

"  Stubborn,  you  mean." 

"  Well,  perhaps  so,  Elizabeth,  but  stubborn  I  will  be  until 

*  There  was  little  coin  in  circulation  in  the  Colony  in  1715. 
At  this  time  the  rate  of  exchange  between  specie  and  paper 
money  was  about  £2  in  paper  for  one  in  gold. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  231 

it  is  shown  to  be  a  good  match,  and  then  he  may  have  her 
with  all  my  heart.  It  is  true,  I  love  not  his  smart  speeches, 
which  are  sometimes  quite  too  free;  and  not  reverend  and 
scarcely  respectful.  But  I  shall  not  mind  that,  if  I  can  find 
out  certainly  who  he  is,  and  that  he  comes  of  good  family, 
does  nothing  disreputable.  Eemember,  Elizabeth,  we  come 
of  good  family  ourselves — old  England  can't  show  a  better; 
and  we  must  be  careful  to  do  it  no  discredit  by  a  connection 
for  our  child." 

"  That  is  all  true  and  very  sensible,  Mr.  Matthews,  and  I 
agree  with  you  whenever  you  talk  to  the  point.  Now  you 
will  admit,  I  think,  that  I  know  when  a  gentleman  is  a  gen- 
tleman, and  when  he  is  not — and  I  tell  you  that  if  Master 
Harrison  is  not  a  gentleman,  then  give  me  up,  and  don't 
mind  my  opinion  again.  I  don't  want  spectacles  to  see  that 
he   comes   of  good   family   and   is    a   gentleman." 

"  Yes,  your  opinion  may  be  right ;  but  still  it  is  opinion 
only — not  evidence;  and,  if  it  be  wrong — what  then?  The 
evil  will  be  past  remedy." 

"  It  can't  be  wrong.  When  I  look  upon  him,  I'm  certain — 
so  graceful  and  polite,  and  then  his  dignity  and  good- 
breeding." 

"  Good-breeding,  indeed !  "  and  this  exclamation  the  pastor 
accompanied  with  a  most  irreverend  chuckle,  which  had  in  it 
a  touch  of  bitterness.  "  Go  to  your  chamber,  Bess,  my  dear," 
he  said  turning  to  his  daughter,  who,  sitting  in  a  corner  rather 
behind  her  mother,  with  head  turned  downwards  to  the  floor. 
had  heard  the  preceding  dialogue  with  no  little  interest  and 
disquiet.  She  obeyed  the  mandate  in  silence,  and  when  she 
had  gone,  the  old  man  resumed  his  exclamation. 

"  Good-breeding,  indeed !  when  he  told  me,  to  my  face, 
that  he  would  have  Bess  in  spite  of  my  teeth." 

The  old  lady  now  chuckled  in  earnest,  and  the  pastor's 
brow  gloomed  accordingly. 

uWell,  I  declare,  John,  that  only  shows  a  fine-spirited 
fellow.  Now,  as  I  live,  if  I  were  a  young  man,  in  the  same 
way,  and  were  to  be  crossed  after  this  fashion,  I'd  say  the 
same  thing.  That  1  would.  I  tell  you,  John,  I  see  no  harm 
in  it,  and  my  memory's  good,  John,  that  you  had  some  of  the 
same  spirit  in  our  young  days." 


232-  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"Your  memory's  quite  too  good,  Elizabeth,  and  the  less 
you  let  it  travel  back  the  better  for  both  of  us/'  was  the  some- 
what grave  response.  "  But  I  have  something  to  say  of 
young  Hugh — Hugh  Grayson,  I  mean.  Hugh  really  loves 
Bess — I'm  certain  quite  as  much  as  your  Captain  Harrison. 
JSTow,  we  know  him  ?  " 

"  Don't  speak  to  me  of  Hugh  Grayson,  Mr.  Matthews — for 
it's  no  use.     Bess  don't  care  a  straw  for  him." 

"A  fine,  sensible  young  man,  very  smart,  and  likely  to  do 
well." 

"  A  sour,  proud  upstart — idle  and  sulky — who  does  noth- 
ing, though,  as  we  all  know,  he's  got  nothing  in  the  world." 

"  Has  your  Harrison  any  more  ?  " 

"  And  if  he  hasn't,  John  Matthews — let  me  tell  you  at 
least  he's  a  very  different  person  from  Hugh  Grayson,  besides 
being  born  and  bred  a  gentleman." 

"I'd  like  to  know,  Elizabeth,  how  you  come  at  that  fact, 
that  you  speak  it  so  confidently." 

"  Leave  a  woman  alone  for  finding  out  a  gentleman  bred 
from  one  that  is  not;  it  don't  want  study  and  witnesses  to 
tell  the  difference  betwixt  them.    We  can  tell  at  a  glance." 

"  Indeed !  But  I  see  it's  of  no  use  to  talk  with  you  now. 
You  are  bent  on  having  things  all  your  own  way.  As  for  the 
man,  I  believe  you  are  almost  as  much  in  love  with  him 
as  your  daughter."  And  this  was  said  with  a  smile  meant 
for  compromise ;  but  the  old  lady  went  on  gravely  enough  for 
earnest. 

"  And  it's  enough  to  make  me,  John,  when  you  are  running 
him  down  from  morning  to  night,  though  you  know  we  don't 
like  it.  But  that's  neither  here  nor  there.^  His  advice  is 
good,  and  he  certainly  means  it  for  our  safety.  Will  you  do 
as  Bess  said,  and  shall  we  go  to  the  Block  House,  till  the 
Indians  become  quiet  again  ?  " 

"  His  advice,  indeed  !  You  help  his  plans  wondrously.  But 
I  see  through  his  object  if  you  do  not.  He  only  desires  us 
at  the  Block  House,  in  order  to  be  more  with  Bess  than  he 
possibly  can  be  at  present.  He  is  always  there,  or  in  the 
neighbourhood." 

"  And  you  are  sure,  John,  there's  no  danger  from  the 
Indians  ?  " 


THE  YEMASSEE.  233 

"Xone,  none  in  the  world.  They  are  as  quiet  as  they  well 
can  be,  under  the  repeated  invasion  of  their  grounds  by  the 
borderers,  who  are  continually  hunting  in  their  woods.  By 
the  way,  I  must  speak  to  young  Grayson  on  the  subject.  He 
is  quite  too  frequently  over  the  bounds,  and  they  like  him 
not." 

""Well,  well — but  this  insurrection.  John?" 

"  Was  a  momentary  commotion,  suppressed  instantly  by  the 
old  chief  Sanutee,  who  is  friendly  to  us,  and  whom  they  have 
just  made  their  great  chief,  or  king,  in  place  of  Huspah,  whom 
they  deposed.  "Were  they  unkindly  disposed,  they  would  have 
destroyed,  and  not  have  saved,  the  Commissioners." 

"But  Harrison  knows  a  deal  more  of  the  Indians  than 
any  body  else;  and  then  they  say  that  Sanutee  himself  drove 
Grangrer  out  of  Pocota-ligo." 

"  Harrison  says  more  than  he  can  unsay,  and  pretends  to 
more  than  he  can  ever  know;  and  I  heed  not  his  opinion.  As 
for  the  expulsion  of  Granger,  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"  I  wish,  John,  vou  would  not  think  so  lisrhtlv  of  Harrison. 
You  remember  he  saved  us  when  the  Coosaws  broke  out.  His 
management  did  every  thing  then.  Xow,  don't  let  your  ill 
opinion  of  the  man  stand  in  the  way  of  proper  caution. 
Remember,  John, — your  wife — your  child." 

"  I  do,  Elizabeth ;  but  you  are  growing  a  child  yourself." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  I'm  in  my  dotage  ?  "  said  the  old 
lady,  quickly  and  sharply. 

"  Xo,  no,  not  that,"  and  he  smiled  for  an  instant — "  onlv, 
that  your  timidity  does  not  suit  your  experience.  But  I  have 
thought  seriously  on  the  subject  of  this  threatened  outbreak, 
and,  for  myself,  can  see  nothing  to  fear  from  the  Yemassees. 
There  is  nothing  to  justify  these  suspicions  of  Master  Harri- 
son. On  the  contrary,  they  have  not  only  always  been 
friendly  heretofore,  but  they  appear  friendly  now.  Several  of 
them,  as  you  know,  have  professed  to  me  a  serious  conviction 
of  the  truth  of  those  divine  lessons  which  I  have  taught 
them;  and  when  I  know  this,  it  would  be  a  most  shameful 
desertion  of  my  duty  were  I  to  doubt  those  solemn  avowals 
which  thev  have  made,  through  mv  poor  instrumentalitv,  to 
the  Deity." 

"Well,  John,  I  hope  you  are  right,  and  that  Harrison  is 


234  THE  YEMASSEE. 

wrong;  though,  I  confess,  I'm  dubious.  To  God  I  leave  it 
to  keep  us  from  evil :  in  his  hands  there  are  peace  and  safety." 

"  Amen,  amen ! "  fervently  responded  the  pastor,  as  he 
spoke  to  his  retiring  dame,  who,  gathering  up  her  working 
utensils,  was  about  to  pass  into  the  adjoining  chamber;  but 
lingered,  as  the  Parson  followed  her  with  a  few  more  last 
words. 

"  Amen,  Elizabeth — though,  I  must  say,  the  tone  of  your 
expressed  reliance  upon  God  has  still  in  it  much  that  is 
doubting  and  unconfiding.  Let  us  add  to  the  prayer  one  for 
a  better  mood  along  with  the  better  fortune." 

Here  the  controversy  ended;  the  old  lady,  as  her  husband 
alleged,  still  unsatisfied,  and  the  preacher  himself  not  alto- 
gether assured  in  his  own  mind  that  a  lurking  feeling  of 
hostility  to  Harrison,  rather  than  a  just  sense  of  his  security, 
had  not  determined  him  to  risk  the  danger  from  the  Indians, 
in  preference  to  a  better  hope  of  securitv  in  the  shelter  of 
the  Block  House. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  235 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

As  soon  as  his  interview  was  over  with  Bess  Matthews, 
Harrison  hurried  back  to  the  Block  House.    He  there  received 
intelligence  confirming  that  which  she  had  given  him.  con- 
cerning the  movements  of  Chorley  and  his  craft.    The  strange 
vessel  had  indeed  taken  up  anchors  and  changed  her  position. 
Availing  herself  of  a  favouring  breeze,  she  had  ascended  the 
river,  a  few  miles  nigher  to  the  settlements  of  the  Yemassees, 
and  now  lay  fronting  the  left  wing  of  the  pastor's  cottage ; — 
the  right  of  it,  as  it  stood  upon  the  jutting  tongue  of  land 
around  which  wound  the  river,  she  had  before  fronted  from 
below.    The  new  position  could  only  have  been  chosen  for  the 
facility  of  intercourse  with  the  Indians,  which,  from  the  lack 
of  a  good  landing  on  this  side  of  the  river,  had  been  wanting  to 
her  where  she  originally  lay.    In  addition  to  this  intelligence, 
Harrison    learned    that    which    still    further    quickened    his 
anxieties.     The  wife  of  Granger,  a  woman  of  a  calm,  stern, 
energetic  disposition,  who  had  been  something  more  observant 
than  her  husband,  informed  him  that  there  had  been  a  con- 
siderable   intercourse    already   between   the   vessel    and   the 
Indians  since  her  remove — that  their  boats  had  been  around 
her  constantly  during  the  morning,  and  that  boxes  and  pack- 
ages of  sundry  kinds  had  been  carried  from  her  to  the  shore ; 
individual  Indians,  too,  had  been  distinguished  walking  her 
decks;  a  privilege  which,  it  was  well  known,  had  been  denied 
to  the  whites,  who  had  not  been  permitted  the  slightest  inter- 
course with   the   stranger.     All  this   confirmed   the   already 
active  apprehensions  of  Harrison.     He  could  no  longer  doubt 
of  her  intentions,  or  of  the  intentions  of  the  Yemassess;  yet, 
how    to    proceed — how    to    prepare — on    whom    to    rely — in 
what  quarter  to  look  for  the  attack,  and  what  was  the  extent 
of  the  proposed  insurrection? — was  it  partial,   or  general? 
Did  it  include  the  Indian  nations  generally — twenty-eight 
of  which,  at  that  time,   occupied  the  Carolinas — or  was  it 
confined  to  the  Yemassees  and  Spaniards?  and  if  the  latter 
were  concerned,  were  they  to  be  looked  for  in  force,  and 


236  THE  YEMASSEE. 

whether  by  land  or  by  sea  ?  These  were  the  multiplied  ques- 
tions, and  to  resolve  them  was  the  great  difficulty  in  the  way 
of  Harrison.  That  there  were  now  large  grounds  for  sus- 
picion, he  could  no  longer  doubt;  but  how  to  proceed  in 
arousing  the  people,  and  whether  it  were  necessary  to  arouse 
the  colony  at  large,  or  only  that  portion  of  it  more  imme- 
diately in  contact  with  the  Indians — and  how  to  inform  them 
in  time  for  the  crisis  which  he  now  felt  was  at  hand,  and 
which  might  involve  the  fate  of  the  infant  colony — all  de- 
pended upon  the  correctness  of  his  acquired  information; — 
and  yet  his  fugitive  spy  came  not  back,  sent  no  word,  and 
might  have  betrayed  his  mission. 

The  doubts  grew  with  their  contemplation.  The  more  he 
thought  of  the  recent  Yemassee  discontents,  the  more  he 
dreaded  to  think.  He  knew  that  this  discontent  was  not  com 
fined  to  the  Yemassee,  but  extended  even  to  the  waters  of  the 
Iveowee  and  to  the  Apalachian  mountains.  The  Indians  had 
suffered  on  all  sides  from  the  obtrusive  borderers,  and  had 
been  treated,  he  felt  conscious,  with  less  than  respect  and 
justice  by  the  provincial  government  itself.  But  a  little  time 
before,  the  voluntary  hostages  of  the  Cherokees  had  been 
entertained  with  indignity  and  harshness  by  the  Assembly  of 
Carolina ;  having  been  incarcerated  in  a  dungeon,  under  cruel 
circumstances  of  privation,  which  the  Cherokees  at  large  did 
not  appear  to  feel  in  a  less  degree  than  the  suffering  hostages 
themselves,  and  were  pacified  with  extreme  difficulty.  The 
full  array  of  these  circumstances,  to  the  mind  of  Harrison, 
satisfied  him  of  the  utter  senselessness  of  any  confidence  in 
that  friendly  disposition  of  the  natives,  originally  truly  felt, 
but  which  had  been  so  repeatedly  abused  as  to  be  no  longer 
entertained,  or  only  entertained  as  a  mask  to  shelter  feelings 
directly  opposite  in  character.  The  increasing  consciousness 
of  danger,  and  the  failure  of  Occonestoga,  on  whose  intelli- 
gence he  had  so  greatly  depended,  momentarily  added  to  his 
disquiet,  by  leaving  him  entirely  at  a  loss,  as  to  the  time, 
direction,  and  character  of  that  danger,  which  it  had  been  his 
wish  and  province  to  provide  against.  Half  soliloquizing  as 
he  thought,  and  half  addressing  Granger,  who  stood  beside 
him  in  the  upper  and  habitable  room  of  the  Block  House, 
the  anxieties  of  Harrison  found  their  way  to  his  lips. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  237 

"  Bad  enough,  Granger — and  yet  what  to  do — how  to  move 
— for  there's  little  use  in  moving  without  a  purpose.  We  can 
do  nothing  without  intelligence,  and  that  we  must  have  though 
we  die  for  it.  We  must  seek  and  find  out  their  aim,  their 
direction,  their  force,  and  what  they  depend  upon.  If  they 
come  alone  we  can  manage  them,  unless  they  scatter  simul- 
taneously upon  various  points  and  take  us  by  surprise, 
and  this,  if  I  mistake  not,  will  be  their  course.  But  I  fear  this 
sailor-fellow  brings  them  an  ugly  coadjutor  in  the  power  of 
the  Spaniard.  He  comes  from  St.  Augustine  evidently ;  and 
may  bring  them  men — a  concealed  force,  and  this  accounts  for 
his  refusal  to  admit  any  of  our  people  on  board.  The  boxes 
too, — did  you  mark  them  well,  Granger  ?  " 

"  As  well  as  I  might,  sir,  from  the  Chief's  Bluff." 
"  And  what  might  they  contain,  think  you  ?  " 
"  Goods  and  wares,  sir,  I  doubt  not :  blankets  perhaps — " 
"  Or  muskets  and  gunpowder.     Your  thoughts  run  upon 
nothing  but  stock  in  trade,  and  the  chance  of  too  much  com- 
petition.    Xow,  is  it  not  quite  as  likely  that  those  boxes  held 
hatchets,  and  knives,  and  fire-arms  ?    Were  they  not  generally 
of  one  size   and  shape — Ions;,   narrow — eh?     Did  you  note 
that?" 

"  They  were,  my  lord,  all  of  one  size,  as  you  described  them. 
I  saw  that  myself,  and  so  I  said  to  Eichard,  but  he  did  not 
mind." 

Thus  spoke  the  wife  of  Granger,  in  reply  to  the  question 
which  had  been  addressed  to  her  husband. 

"  Did  you  speak  to  me  ?  "  was  the  stern  response  of  Harri- 
son, in  a  tone  of  voice  and  severity  not  usually  employed  by 
the  speaker,  accompanying  his  speech  by  a  keen  penetrating 
glance,  which,  passing  alternately  from  husband  to  wife, 
seemed  meant  to  go  through  them  both. 

"  I  did  speak  to  you,  sir, — and  you  will  forgive  me  for 
having  addressed  any  other  than  Captain  Harrison,"  she 
replied,  composedly  and  calmly,  though  in  a  manner  meant 
to  conciliate  and  excuse  the  inadvertence  of  which  she  had 
been  guilty  in  conferring  upon  him  a  title  which  in  that  region 
it  seemed  his  policy  to  avoid.  Then,  as  she  beheld  that  his 
glance  continued  to  rest  in  rebuke  upon  the  shrinking  features 
of  her  husband,  she  proceeded  thus — 


238  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  You  will  forgive  him  too,  sir,  I  pray  you ;  but  it  is  not  so 
easy  for  a  husband  to  keep  any  secret  from  his  wife,  and  least 
of  all,  such  as  that  which  concerns  a  person  who  has  pro- 
voked so  much  interest  in  us  all." 

"  You  are  adroit,  mistress,  and  your  husband  owes  you 
much.  A  husband  does  find  it  difficult  to  keep  any  thing 
secret  from  his  wife  but  his  own  virtues;  and  of  these  she 
seldom  dreams.  But  pray,  when  was  this  wonderful  revela- 
tion made  to  you  ?  " 

"  You  were  known  to  me,  sir,  ever  since  the  Foresters  made 
you  captain,  just  after  the  fight  with  the  Coosaws  at  Tulifinnee 
Swamp." 

"  Indeed ! "  was  the  reply ;  "  well,  my  good  dame,  you 
have  had  my  secret  long  enough  to  keep  it  now.  I  am  per- 
suaded you  can  keep  it  better  than  your  husband.  How  now, 
Granger !  you  would  be  a  politician  too,  and  I  am  to  have  the 
benefit  of  your  counsels,  and  you  would  share  mine.  Is't  not 
so — and  yet,  you  would  fly  to  your  chamber,  and  share  them 
with  a  tongue,  which,  in  the  better  half  of  the  sex,  would 
wag  it  on  every  wind,  from  swamp  to  sea,  until  all  points  of 
the  compass  grew  wiser  upon  it." 

"Why,  captain,"  replied  the  trader,  half  stupidly,  half 
apologetically — "  Moll  is  a  close  body  enough." 

"  So  is  not  Moll's  worser  half,"  was  the  reply.  "  But  no 
more  of  this  folly.  There  is  much  for  both  of  us  to  do,  and  not 
a  little  for  you  in  particular,  if  you  will  do  it." 

"Speak,  sir,  I  will  do  much  for  you,  captain." 

"  And  for  good  pay.  This  it  is.  You  must  to  the  Yemas- 
sees — to  Pocota-ligo — see  what  they  do,  find  out  what  they 
design,  and  look  after  Occonestoga — are  you  ready  ?  " 

"  It  were  a  great  risk,  captain,  at  this  time." 

"  Why,  true,  and  life  itself  is  a  risk.  We  breathe  not  an 
instant  without  hazard  of  its  loss,  and  a  plumstone,  to  an 
open  mouth  at  dinner,  is  quite  as  perilous  as  the  tenth  bullet. 
Sleep  is  a  risk,  and  one  presses  not  his  pillow  o'nights,  with- 
out a  prayer  against  eternity  before  morning.  Show  me  the 
land  where  we  risk  nothing,  and  I  will  risk  all  to  get  there." 

"  It's  as  much  as  my  life's  worth,  captain." 

"  Psha !  we  can  soon  count  up  that.  Thou  art  monstrous 
fond  of  thy  carcass,  now,  and  by  this  I  know  thou  art  grow- 


THE  YEMASSEE.  239 

ing  wealthy.  We  shall  add  to  thy  gains,  if  thou  wilt  go  on 
this  service.  The  Assembly  will  pay  thee  well,  as  they  have 
done  before.     Thou  hast  not  lost  by  its  service." 

"  Xothing,  sir — but  have  gained  greatly.  In  moderate 
adventure.  I  am  willing  to  serve  them  now;  but  not  in  this. 
The  Yemassees  were  friendly  enough  then,  and  so  was 
Sanutee.  It  is  different  now,  and  all  the  favour  I  could  look 
for  from  the  old  chief,  would  be  a  stroke  of  his  hatchet,  to 
save  me  from  fire-torture." 

"But  why  talk  of  detection?  I  do  not  desire  that  thou 
shouldst  allow  thyself  to  be  taken.  Think  you.  when  I  go 
into  battle,  the  thought  of  being  shot  ever  troubles  me?  Xo. 
If  I  thought  that,  I  should  not  perhaps  go.  My  only  thought 
is  how  to  shoot  others ;  and  you  should  think,  in  this  venture, 
not  of  your  own,  but  the  danger  of  those  around  you.  You  are 
a  good  Indian  hunter,  and  have  practised  all  their  arts.  Take 
the  swamp — hug  the  tree — line  the  thicket — see  and  hear,  nor 
shout  till  you  are  out  of  the  wood.  There's  no  need  to  thrust 
your  nose  into  the  Indian  kettles." 

"  It  might  be  done,  captain ;  but  if  caught,  it  would  be  so 
much  the  worse  for  me.     I  can't  think  of  it.  sir." 

"  Caught  indeed !  A  button  for  the  man  who  prefers  fear 
rather  than  hope.  Will  not  a  hundred  pounds  teach  thee 
reason?  Look,  man,  it  is  here  with  thy  wife — will  that  not 
move  thee  to  it." 

"  Xot  five  hundred,  captain, — not  five  hundred,"  replied  the 
trader,  decisively.  "  I  know  too  well  the  danger,  and  shan't 
forget  the  warning  which  old  Sanutee  gave  me.  I've  seen 
enough  of  it  to  keep  me  back ;  and  though  I  am  willing  to  do 
a  great  deal,  captain,  for  you  as  well  as  the  Assembly,  without 
any  reward,  as  I  have  often  done  before, — for  you  have  all 
done  a  great  deal  for  me — yet  it  were  death,  and  a  horrible 
death,  for  me  to  undertake  this.  I  must  not — I  do  not  say 
I  will  not — but  in  truth  I  cannot — I  dare  not." 

Thus  had  the  dialogue  between  Harrison  and  the  trader 
gone  on  for  some  time,  the  former  urging  and  the  latter  refus- 
ing. The  wife  of  the  Jatter  all  the  while  had  looked  on.  and 
listened  in  silence,  almost  unnoticed  by  either,  but  her  coun- 
tenance during  the  discussion  was  full  of  eloquent  speech. 
The    colour   in   her   cheeks   now   came    and   went,    her   eye 


240  THE  YEMASSEE. 

sparkled,  her  lip  quivered,  and  she  moved  to  and  fro,  with 
emotion  scarcely  suppressed,  until  her  husband  came  to  his 
settled  conclusion  not  to  go,  as  above  narrated,  when  she 
boldly  advanced  between  him  and  Harrison,  and  with  her  eye 
settling  somewhat  scornfully  upon  him,  where  he  stood,  she 
thus   addressed   him : — 

"  Now  out  upon  thee,  Richard,  for  a  mean  spirit.  Thou 
wouldst  win  money  only  when  the  game  is  easy  and  all  thine 
own.  Hast  thou  not  had  the  pay  of  the  Assembly,  time  upon 
time,  and  for  little  risk  ?  and  because  the  risk  is  now  greater, 
wilt  thou  hold  back  like  a  man  having  no  heart?  I  shame 
to  think  of  what  thou  hast  spoken.  But  the  labour  and  the 
risk  thou  fearest  shall  be  mine.  I  fear  not  the  savages — 
I  know  their  arts  and  can  meet  them,  and  so  couldst  thou, 
Granger,  did  thy  own  shadow  not  so  frequently  beset  thee  to 
scare.  Give  me  the  charge  which  thou  hast,  captain — and, 
Granger,  touch  not  the  pounds.  Thou  wilt  keep  them,  my 
lord,  for  other  service.    I  will  go  without  the  pay." 

"  Thou  shalt  not,  Moll — thou  shalt  not,"  cried  the  trader, 
interposing. 

"  But,  I  will,  Eichard,  and  thou  knowest  I  will  when  my 
lips  have  said  it.  If  there  be  danger,  I  have  no  children  to 
feel  my  want,  and  it  is  but  my  own  life,  and  even  its  loss 
might  save  many/' 

"Moll — Moll  ! "  exclaimed  the  trader,  half  entreating,  half 
commanding  in  his  manner,  but  she  heeded  him  not. 

"  And  now,  my  lord,  the  duty.     What  is  to  be  done?'" 

Harrison  looked  on  as  she  spoke,  in  wonder  and  admiration, 
then  replied,  warmly  seizing  her  hand  as  he  did  so : 

"  Now,  by  heaven,  woman,  but  thou  hast  a  soul — a  noble, 
strong,  manly  soul,  such  as  would  shame  thousands  of  the  more 
presumptuous  sex.  But  thy  husband  has  said  right  in  this. 
Thou  shalt  not  go,  and  thy  words  have  well  taught  me  that  the 
task  should  be  mine  own." 

"  What !  my  lord,"  exclaimed  both  the  trader  and  his  wife— 
"thou  wilt  not  trust  thy  person  in  their  hands?" 

«  No — certainly  not.  Not  if  I  can  help  it — but  whatever 
be  the  risk  that  seems  so  great  to  all,  I  should  not  seek  to 
hazard  the  lives  of  others,  where  my  own  is  as  easily  come  at, 
and  where  my  own  is  the  greater  stake.     So,  Granger,  be  at 


THE  YEMASSEE.  241 

rest  for  thyself  and  wife.  I  put  thyself  first  in  safety,  where 
T  know  thou  wishest  it.  For  thee — thou  art  a  nohle  woman, 
and  thy  free  proffer  of  service  is  indeed  good  service  this 
hour  to  me,  since  it  brings  me  to  recollect  my  own  duty.  The 
hundred  pounds  are  thine,  Granger !  " 

"  My  lord  !  " 

"  Xo  lording,  man — no  more  of  that,  but  hear  me.  In  a 
few  hours,  and  with  the  dusk,  I  shall  be  off.  See  that  you 
keep  good  watch  when  I  am  gone,  for  the  Block  House  will  be 
the  place  of  retreat  for  our  people  in  the  event  of  commotion, 
and  will  therefore  most  likely  be  a  point  of  attack  with  the 
enemy.  Several  have  been  already  warned,  and  will  doubtless 
be  here  by  night.  Be  certain  }rou  know  whom  you  admit. 
Grimstead  and  Grayson,  with  several  of  the  foresters,  will 
come  with  their  families,  and  with  moderate  caution  you  can 
make  your  defence.    Xo  more." 

Thus  counselling,  and  directing  some  additional  prepara- 
tions to  the  trader  and  his  wife,  he  called  for  Hector,  who, 
a  moment  after,  made  his  appearance,  as  if  hurried  away  from 
a  grateful  employ,  with  a  mouth  greased  from  ear  to  ear,  and 
a  huge  mass  of  fat  bacon  still  clutched  tenaciously  between  his 
fingers. 

"  Hector !  » 

"  Sa,  maussa." 

"Hast  fed  Dugdale  to-day?" 

"  Jist  done  feed  'em,  maussa." 

"  See  that  you  give  him  nothing  more — and  get  the  horse 
in  readiness.    I  go  up  the  river-trace  by  the  night. " 

"  He  done,  maussa,  as  you  tell  me :"  and  the  black  retired  to 
finish  the  meal,  in  the  enjoyment  of  which  he  had  been  inter- 
rupted. At  dusk,  under  the  direction  of  his  master — who 
now  appeared  gallantly  mounted  upon  his  noble  steed — 
Hector  led  Dugdale  behind  him  to  the  entrance  of  a  little 
wood,  where  the  river-trace  began  upon  which  his  master  was 
going.  Alighting  from  his  horse,  Harrison  played  for  a  few 
moments  with  the  strong  and  favourite  dog,  and  thrusting  his 
hand,  among  other  things,  down  the  now  and  then  extended 
jaws  of  the  animal,  he  seemed  to  practise  a  sport  to  which 


24B  THE  YEMASSEE. 

he  was  familiar.  After  this,  he  made  the  negro  put  Dug- 
dale's  nose  upon  the  indented  track,  and  then  instructed  him, 
in  the'  event  of  his  not  returning  by  the  moon-rise,  to 
unmuzzle  and  place  him  upon  the  trace  at  the  point  he  was 
leaving.  This  done,  he  set  off  at  a  rapid  pace,  Dugdale 
vainly  struggling  to  follow  close  upon  his  footsteps. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  243 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Leaving  Bess  Matthews,  as  we  have  seen,  under  the  influ- 
ence of  a  sad  and  feverish  spirit,  Hugh  Grayson,  as  if  seeking 
to  escape  the  presence  of  a  pursuing  and^  painful  thought^ 
plunged  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  forest,  out  of  the  pathway, 
though  still  in  the  direction  of  his  own  home.    His  mind  was 
now  a  complete  chaos,  in  which  vexation  and  disappointment, 
not  to  speak  of  self-reproach,  were  active  principles  of  misrule. 
He  felt  deeply  the  shame  following  upon  the  act  of  espionage 
of  which  he  had  been  guilty,  and  though  conscious  that  it  was 
the  consequence  of  a  momentary  paroxysm  that  might  well 
offer   excuse,   he   was,   nevertheless,   too    highly   gifted   with 
sensibility  not  to  reject  those  suggestions  of  his  mind  which  at 
moments  sought  to  extenuate  it.     Perhaps,  too.  his  feeling 
of  abasement  was  not  a  little  exaggerated  by  the  stern  and 
mortifying  rebuke  which  had  fallen  from  the  lips   of  that 
being  whose  good  opinion  had  been  all  the  world  to  him. 
^Vith  these  feelings  at  work,  his  mood  was  in  no  sort  enviable; 
and   when,    at    nightfall,    he    reached    the    dwelling    of    his 
mother,  it  was  in  a  condition  of  mind  which  drove  him.  a 
reckless  savage,  into  a  corner  of  the  apartment  opposite  that  in 
which  sat  the  old  dame  croning  over  the  pages  of  the  sacred 
volume.     She  looked  up  at  intervals,  and  cursorily  surveyed, 
in  brief  glances,  the  features  of  her  son.  who=e  active  mind 
and  feverish  ambition,  warring  as  they  ever  did  against  that 
condition  of  life  imposed  upon  him  by  the  necessities  of  his 
birth  and  habitation,  had  ever  been  an  object  of  great  solici- 
tude to  his  surviving  parent.     He  had  been  her  pet  in  his 
childhood — her  pride  as  he  grew  older,  and  began  to  exhibit 
the  energies   and   graces   of   a   strongly-marked   and   highly 
original,  though  unschooled  intellect.     Xot  without  ambition 
and  an  appreciation  of  public  honours,  the  old  woman  could 
not  but  regard  her  son  as  promising  to  give  elevation  to  the 
name   of   his   then   unknown   family:    a    hope    not    entirely 
extravagant  in  a  part  of  the  world  in  which  the  necessities 
of  life  were  such  as  to  compel  a  sense  of  equality  in  all ;  and, 


244  THE  YEMASSEE. 

indeed,  if  making  an  inequality  anywhere,  making  it  in  favour 
rather  of  the  bold  and  vigorous  plebeian,  than  of  the  delicately- 
nurtured  and  usually  unenterprising  scion  of  aristocracy. 
Closing  the  book  at  length,  the  old  lady  turned  to  her  son,  and 
without  remarking  upon  the  peculiar  unseemliness,  not  to  say 
wildness,  of  his  appearance,  she  thus  addressed  him: — 

"  Where  hast  thou  been,  Hughey,  boy,  since  noon  ?  Thy 
brother  and  thyself  both  from  home — I  have  felt  lonesome, 
and  really  began  to  look  for  the  Indians  that  the  young 
captain  warned  us  of." 

"  Still  the  captain — nothing  but  the  captain.  Go  where  I 
may,  he  is  in  my  sight,  and  his  name  within  my  ears.  I  am 
for  ever  haunted  by  his  presence.  His  shadow  is  on  the  wall, 
and  before  me,  whichever  way  I  turn." 

"And  does  it  offend  thee,  Hughey,  and  wherefore?  He 
is  a  goodly  gentleman,  and  a  gracious,  and  is  so  considerate. 
He  smoothed  my  cushion  when  he  saw  it  awry,  and  so  well, 
I  had  thought  him  accustomed  to  it  all  his  life.  I  see  no 
harm  in  him." 

"  I  doubt  not,  mother.  He  certainly  knows  well  how  to 
cheat  old  folks  not  less  than  young  ones  into  confidence. 
That  smoothing  of  thy  cushion  makes  him  in  thy  eyes  for 
ever." 

"And  so  it  should,  my  son,  for  it  shows  consideration. 
What  could  he  hope  to  get  from  an  old  woman  like  me.  and 
wherefore  should  he  think  to  find  means  to  pleasure  me, 
but  that  he  is  well-bred  and  a  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Aye,  that  is  the  word,  mother — he  is  a  gentleman — who 
knows,  a  lord  in  disguise — and  is  therefore  superior  to  the 
poor  peasant  who  is  forced  to  dig  his  roots  for  life  in  the 
unproductive  sands.  Wherefore  should  his  hands  be 
unblistered,  and  mine  asore  ?  Wherefore  should  he  come,  and 
with  a  smile  and  silly  speech  win  his  way  into  people's  hearts, 
when  I,  with  a  toiling  affection  of  years,  and  a  love  that  almost 
grows  into  a  worship  of  its  object,  may  not  gather  a  single 
regard  from  any?  Has  nature  given  me  life  for  this?  Have 
I  had  a  thought  given  me,  bidding  me  ascend  the  eminence 
and  look  down  upon  the  multitude,  only  for  denial  and  tor- 
ture?    Wherefore  is  this  cruelty,  this  injustice?     Can  you 


THE  YEMASSEE.  245 

answer,  mother — does  the  Bible  tell  you  any  thing  on  this 
subject  ?  " 

"Be  not  irreverent,  my  son,  but  take  the  sacred  volume 
more  frequently  into  your  own  hands  if  you  desire  an  answer 
to  your  question.  Why,  Hughe}-,  are  you  so  perverse?  making 
yourself  and  all  unhappy  about  you,  and  still  fevering  with 
every  thing  you  see." 

"  That  is  the  question,  mother;  that  I  asked  you  but  now. 
Why  is  it?  Why  am  I  not  like  my  brother,  who  looks  upon 
this  Harrison  as  if  he  were  a  god,  and  will  do  his  bidding, 
and  fetch  and  carry  for  him  like  a  spaniel?  I  am  not  so — 
yet  thou  hast  taught  us  both — we  have  known  no  other  teach- 
ing. Why  does  he  love  the  laughter  of  the  crowd,  content 
to  send  up  like  sounds  with  the  many,  when  I  prefer  the 
solitude,  or  if  I  go  forth  wTith  the  rest,  go  forth  only  to  dis- 
sent and  to  deny,  and  to  tutor  my  voice  into  a  sound  that  shall 
be  unlike  any  of  theirs  ?    Why  is  all  this  ?  " 

"  Xay,  I  know  not,  yet  so  it  is,  Hughey.  Thou  wert  of 
this  nature  from  thy  cradle,  and  wouldst  reject  the  toy  which 
looked  like  that  of  thy  brother,  and  quarrel  with  the  sport 
which  he  had  chosen." 

"  Yet  thou  wouldst  have  me  like  him — but  I  would  rather 
perish  with  my  own  thoughts  in  the  gloomiest  dens  of  the 
forest,  where  the  sun  comes  not ;  and  better,  far  better  that  it 
were  so — far  better/'  he  exclaimed,  moodily. 

"What  say'st  thou,  Hughey — why  this  new  sort  of  lan- 
guage? what  has  troubled  thee?"  inquired  the  old  woman, 
affectionately. 

"  Mother,  I  am  a  slave — a  dog — an  accursed  thing,  and 
in  the  worst  of  bondage — I  am  nothing." 

"  How !— " 

"  I  would  be,  and  I  am  not.  They  keep  me  down — they 
refuse  to  hear — they  do  not  heed  me,  and  with  a  thought  of 
command  and  a  will  of  power  in  me,  they  yet  pass  me  by,  and 
I  must  give  way  to  a  bright  wand  and  a  gilded  chain.  Even 
here  in  these  woods,  with  a  poor  neighbourhood,  and  sur- 
rounded by  those  who  are  unhonoured  and  unknown  in 
society,  they — the  slaves  that  they  are! — they  seek  for  artifi- 
cial forms,  and  bind  themselves  with  constraints  that  can  only 
have  a  sanction  in  the  degradation  of  the  many.    They  yield 


246  THE  YEMASSEE. 

up  the  noble  and  true  attributes  of  a  generous  nature,  and 
make  themselves  subservient  to  a  name  and  a  mark — thus 
it  is  that  fathers  enslave  their  children;  and  but  for  this, 
our  lords  proprietors,  whom  God  in  His  mercy  take  to  him- 
self, have  dared  to  say,  even  in  this  wild  land  not  yet  their 
own,  to  the  people  who  have  battled  its  dangers — ye  shall 
worship  after  our  fashion,  or  your  voices  are  unheard.  Who 
is  the  tyrant  in  this? — not  the  ruler — not  the  ruler — but 
those  base  spirits  who  let  him  rule, — those  weak  and 
unworthy,  who,  taking  care  to  show  their  weaknesses,  have 
invited  the  oppression  which  otherwise  could  have  no  head. 
I  would  my  thoughts  were  theirs — or,  and  perhaps  it  were 
better — I  would  their  thoughts  were  mine." 

"  God's  will  be  done,  my  son — but  I  would  thou  hadst  this 
content  of  disposition — without  which  there  is  no  happiness." 

"  Content,  mother — how  idle  is  that  thought.  Life  itself 
is  discontent — hope,  which  is  one  of  our  chief  sources  of 
enjoyment,  is  discontent,  since  it  seeks  that  which  it  has 
not.  Content  is  a  sluggard,  and  should  be  a  slave — a  thing 
to  eat  and  sleep,  and  perhaps  to  dream  of  eating  and  sleep- 
ing, but  not  a  thing  to  live.  Discontent  is  the  life  of  enter- 
prise, of  achievement,  of  glory — ay,  even  of  affection.  I" 
know  the  preachers  say  not  this,  and  the  cant  of  the  books 
tells  a  different  story;  but  I  have  thought  of  it,  mother,  and 
I  know !  "Without  discontent — a  serious  and  unsleeping  dis- 
content— life  would  be  a  stagnant  stream  as  untroubled  as 
the  back  water  of  the  swamps  of  Edistoh,  and  as  full  of  the 
vilest  reptiles." 

"  Thou  art  for  ever  thinking  strange  things,  Hugh,  and 
different  from  all  other  people,  and  somehow  I  can  never 
sleep  after  I  have  been  talking  with  thee." 

"  Because  I  have  thought  for  myself,  mother — in  the  woods, 
by  the  waters — and  have  not  had  my  mind  compressed  into 
the  old  time  mould  with  which  the  pedant  shapes  the  skulls 
of  the  imitative  apes  that  courtesy  considers  human.  My 
own  mind  is  my  teacher,  and  perhaps  my  tyrant.  It  is  some 
satisfaction  that  I  have  no  other — some  satisfaction  that  I 
may  still  refuse  to  look  out  for  idols  such  as  Walter  loves  to 
seek  and  worship — demeaning  a  name  and  family  which  he 
thus  can  never  honour." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  247 

"What  reproach  is  this,  Hughey?  Wherefore  art  thou 
thus  often  speaking  unkindly  of  thy  brother?  Thou  dost 
wrong  him." 

"  He  wrongs  me,  mother,  and  the  name  of  my  father,  when 
he  thus  for  ever  cringes  to  this  captain  of  yours — this  Harri- 
son— whose  name  and  image  mingle  in  with  his  every  thought, 
and  whom  he  thrusts  into  my  senses  at  every  word  which  he 
utters." 

"  Let  not  thy  dislike  to  Harrison  make  thee  distrustful 
of  thy  brother.  Beware,  Hughey — beware,  my  son,  that 
thou  dost  not  teach  thyself  to  hate  where  nature  would  have 
thee  love ! " 

"  Would  I  could — how  much  more  happiness  were  mine ! 
Could  I  hate  where  now  I  love — could  I  exchange  affections, 
devotion,  a  passionate  worship,  for  scorn,  for  hate,  for  indif- 
ference,— anything  so  it  be  change !  "  and  the  youth  groaned 
at  the  conclusion  of  the  sentence,  while  he  thrust  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands  against  the  wall. 

"  Thou  pravest  for  a  bad  spirit,  Hughey ;  and  a  temper  of 
sin — hear  now  what  the  good  book  says,  just  where  I  have 
been  reading;"  and  she  was  about  to  read,  but  he  hurriedly 
approached  and  interrupted  her — 

"  Does  it  say  why  I  should  have  senses,  feelings,  faculties 
of  mind,  moral,  person,  to  be  denied  their  aim,  their  exercise, 
their  utterance,  their  life?  Does  it  say  why  I  should  live, 
for  persecution,  for  shame,  for  shackles?  If  it  explain  not 
this,  mother, — read  not — I  will  not  hear — look  !  I  shut  my 
ears — I  will  not  hear  even  thy  voice — I  am  deaf,  and  would 
have  thee  dumb  !  " 

"  Hugh,"  responded  the  old  woman  solemnly — "  have  I 
loved  thee  or  not  ?  " 

"  Wherefore  the  question,  mother  ? "  he  returned,  with  a 
sudden  change  from  passionate  and  tumultuous  emotion,  to 
a  more  gentle   and  humble   expression. 

"  I  would  know  from  thy  own  lips,  that  thou  thinkest 
me  worthy  only  of  thy  unkind  speech,  and  look,  and  gesture. 
If  I  have  not  loved  thee  well,  and  as  my  son,  thy  sharp  words 
are  good,  and  I  deserve  them;  and  I  shall  bear  them  without 
reproach   or  reply." 

"  Madness,  mother,  dear  mother — hold  me  a  madman,  but 


248  THE  YEMASSEE. 

not  forgetful  of  thy  love — thy  too  much  love  for  one  so  unde- 
serving. It  is  thy  indulgence  that  makes  me  thus  presuming. 
Hadst  thou  been  less  kind,  I  feel  that  I  should  have  been 
less  daring." 

"  Ah !  Hugh,  thou  art  wrestling  with  evil,  and  thou  lovest 
too  much  its  embrace ! — but  stay, — thou  art  not  going  forth 
again  to-night  ?  "  she  asked,  seeing  him  about  to  leave  the 
apartment. 

"  Yes,   yes — I   must — I   must  go." 

"  "Where,  I  pray — " 

"  To  the  woods — to  the  woods.  I  must  walk — out  of  sight 
— in  the  air — I  must  have  fresh  air,  for  I  choke  strangely." 

"  Sick,  Hughey,  my  boy — stay,  and  let  me  get  thee  some 
medicine." 

"  No,  no, — not  sick,  dear  mother ;  keep  me  not  back — fear 
not  for  me — I  was  never  better — never  better."  And  he  sup- 
ported her  with  an  effort  at  moderation,  back  to  her  chair. 
She  was  forced  to  be  satisfied  with  the  assurance,  which, 
however,  could  not  quiet  her. 

"  Thou  wilt  come  back  soon,  Hughey,  for  I  am  all  alone, 
and  Walter  is  with  the  captain." 

"  The  captain ! — ay,  ay,  soon  enough,  soon  enough,"  and 
as  he  spoke  he  was  about  to  pass  from  the  door  of  the  apart- 
ment, when  the  ill-suppressed  sigh  which  the  mother  uttered 
as  she  contemplated  in  him  the  workings  of  a  passion  too 
strong  for  her  present  power  to  suppress,  arrested  his  steps. 
He  turned  quickly,  looked  back  for  an  instant,  then  rushed 
towards  her,  and  kneeling  down  by  her  side,  pressed  her  hand 
to  his  lips,  while  he  exclaimed — 

"  Bless  me,  mother — bless  your  son — pray  for  him,  too — ■ 
pray  that  he  may  not  madden  with  the  wild  thoughts  and 
wilder  hopes  that  keep  him  watchful  and  sometimes  make 
him  wayward." 

"  I  do,  Hughey — I  do,  my  son.  May  God  in  his  mercy 
bless  thee,  as  I  do  now ! " 

He  pressed  her  hand  once  more  to  his  lips,  and  passed  from 
the  apartment. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  249 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Elying  from  the  house,  as  if  by  so  doing  he  might  lose 
the  thoughts  that  had  roused  him  there  into  a  paroxysm  of 
that  fierce  passion  which  too  much  indulgence  had  made 
habitual,  he  rambled,  only  half  conscious  of  his  direction, 
from  cluster  to  cluster  of  the  old  trees,  until  the  seductive 
breeeze  of  the  evening,  coming  up  from  the  river,  led  him 
down  into  that  quarter.  The  stream  lay  before  him  in  the 
shadow  of  night,  reflecting  clearly  the  multitude  of  starry 
eyes  looking  down  from  the  heavens  upon  it,  and  with  but 
a  slight  ripple,  under  the  influence  of  the  evening  breeze, 
crisping  its  otherwise  settled  bosom.  How  different  from  his 
— that  wanderer !  The  disappointed  love — the  vexed  ambition 
— the  feverish  thirst  for  the  unknown,  perhaps  for  the  for- 
bidden, increasing  his  agony  at  every  stride  which  he  took 
along  those  quiet  waters.  It  was  here  in  secret  places,  that 
his  passion  poured  itself  forth — with  the  crowd  it  was  all 
kept  down  by  the  stronger  pride,  which  shrank  from  the 
thought  of  making  its  feelings  public  property.  With  them 
he  was  simply  cold  and  forbidding,  or  perhaps  recklessly  and 
inordinately  gay.  This  was  his  policy.  He  well  knew  how 
great  is  the  delight  of  the  vulgar  mind  when  it  can  search 
and  tent  the  wound  which  it  discovers  you  to  possess.  How 
it  delights  to  see  the  victim  writhe  under  its  infliction,  and, 
with  how  much  pleasure  its  ears  drink  in  the  groans  of  suf- 
fering, particularly  the  suffering  of  the  heart.  He  knew  that 
men  are  never  so  well  content,  once  apprised  of  the  sore,  as 
when  they  are  probing  it ;  unheeding  the  wincings,  or  enjoying 
them  with  the  same  sort  of  satisfaction  with  which  the  boy 
tortures  the  kitten — and  he  determined,  in  his  case  at  least, 
to  deprive  them  of  that  gratification.  He  had  already  learned 
how  much  we  are  the  sport  of  the  many,  when  we  become  the 
victims  of  the  few. 

The  picture  of  the  night  around  him  was  not  for  such 
a  mood.  There  is  a  condition  of  mind  necessary  for  the  due 
appreciation  of  each  object  and  enjoyment,  and  harmony  is 


250  THE  YEMASSEE.      * 

the  life-principle,  as  well  of  man  as  of  nature.  That  quiet 
stream,  with  its  sweet  and  sleepless  murmur — those  watchful 
eyes,  clustering  in  capricious  and  heautiful  groups  above,  and 
peering  down,  attended  by  a  thousand  frail  glories,  into  the 
mirrored  waters  beneath — those  bending  trees,  whose  matted 
arms  and  branches,  fringing  the  river,  made  it  a  hallowed 
home  for  the  dreaming  solitary — they  chimed  not  in  with  that 
spirit,  which  now,  ruffled  by  crossing  currents,  felt  not,, 
saw  not,  desired  not  their  influences.  At  another  time,  in 
another  mood,  he  had  worshipped  them;  now,  their  very 
repose  and  softness,  by  offering  no  interruption  to  the  train 
of  his  own  wild  musings,  rather  contributed  to  their  head- 
strong growth.  The  sudden  tempest  had  done  the  work — 
the  storm  precedes  a  degree  of  quiet  which  in  ordinary  nature 
is   unknown. 

"  Peace,  peace — give  me  peace  !  "  he  cried,  to  the  elements. 
The  small  echo  from  the  opposite  bank,  cried  back  to  him.  in 
a  tone  of  soothing,  "peace" — but  he  waited  not  for  its 
answer. 

"  Wherefore  do  I  ask  ?  "  he  murmured  to  himself,  "  and 
what  is  it  that  I  ask?  Peace,  indeed!  Repose,  rather — ■ 
release,  escape — a  free  release  from  the  accursed  agony  of  this 
still  pursuing  thought.  Is  life  peace,  even  with  love  attained, 
with  conquest,  with  a  high  hope  realized — with  an  ambition 
secure  in  all  men's  adoration !  Peace,  indeed  !  Thou  liest, 
thou  life !  thou  art  an  embodied  lie, — wherefore  dost  thou 
talk  to  me  of  peace  ?  Ye  elements,  that  murmur  on  in  false- 
hood,— stars  and  suns,  streams,  and  ye  gnarled  monitors — 
ye  are  all  false.  Ye  would  soothe,  and  ye  excite,  lure,  encour- 
age, tempt,  and  deny.  The  peace  of  life  is  insensibility — the 
suicide  of  mind  or  affection.  Is  that  a  worse  crime  than  the 
murder  of  the  animal  ?  Impossible.  I  may  not  rob  the  heart 
of  its  passion — the  mind  of  its  immortality ;  and  the  death  of 
matter  is  absurd.  Ha !  there  is  but  one  to  care — but  one, — 
and  she  is  old.  A  year — a  month — and  the  loss  is  a  loss  no 
longer.  There  is  too  much  light  here  for  that.  Why  need 
these  stars  see — why  should  any  see,  or  hear,  or  know  ?  When 
I  am  silent  they  will  shine — and  the  waters  rove  on,  and 
she — she  will  be  not  less  happy  that  I  come  not  between  her 
and .  A  dark  spot — gloomy  and  still,  where  the  groan  will 


THE  YEMASSEE.  251 

have  no  echo,  and  no  eye  may  trace  the  blood  which  streams 
from  a  heart  that  has  only  too  much  in  it." 

Tims  soliloquizing,  in  the  aberration  of  intellect,  which 
was  too  apt  to  follow  a  state  of  high  excitement  in  the 
individual  before  us,  he  plunged  into  a  small,  dark  cavity  of 
wood,  lying  not  far  from  the  river  road,  but  well  concealed, 
as  it  was  partly  under  the  contiguous  swamp.  Here,  burying 
the  handle  of  his  bared  knife  in  the  thick  ooze  of  the  soil 
upon  which  he  stood,  the  sharp  point  upwards,  and  so  placed 
that  it  must  have  penetrated,  he  knelt  down  at  a  brief  space 
from  it,  and,  with  a  last  thought  upon  the  mother  whom  he 
could  not  then  forbear  to  think  upon,  he  strove  to  pray.  _  But 
he  could  not— the  words  stuck  in  his  throat,  and  he  gave  it  up 
in  despair.  He  turned  to  the  fatal  weapon,  and  throwing 
open  his  vest,  so  as  to  free  the  passage  to  his  heart  of  all 
obstructions,  with  a  swimming  and  indirect  emotion  of  the 
brain,  he  prepared  to  cast  himself,  from  the  spot  where  he 
knelt,  upon  its  unvarying  edge,  but  at  that  moment  came 
the  quick  tread  of  a  horse's  hoof  to  his  ear ;  and  with  all  that 
caprice  which  must  belong  to  the  mind  which,  usually  good, 
has  yet,  even  for  an  instant,  purposed  a  crime  not  less  foolish 
than  foul,  he  rose  at  once  to  his  feet. 

The  unlooked-for  sounds  had  broken  the  spell  of  the  scene 
and  situation;  and,  seizing  the  bared  weapon,  he  advanced 
to  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  where  it  looked  down  upon  the  road 
which  ran  alongside.  The  sounds  rapidly  increased,  in  force ; 
and  at  length,  passing  directly  along  before  him,  his  eye  dis- 
tinguished the  outline  of  a  person  whom  he  knew  at  once  to 
be  Harrison.  The  rider  went  by,  but  in  a  moment  after, 
the  sounds  had  ceased.  His  progress  had  been  arrested ;  and 
with  an  emotion,  strange,  and  still  seemingly  without  pur- 
pose, and  for  which  he  did  not  seek  to  account,  Grayson 
changed  his  position,  and  moved  along  the  edge  of  the  road 
to  where  the  sounds  of  the  horse  had  terminated.  His  fin- 
gers clutched  the  knife,  bared  for  a  different  purpose,  with 
a  'strange  sort  of  ecstasy.  A  sanguinary  picture  of  triumph 
and  of  terror  rose  up  before  his  eyes ;  and  the  leaves  and 
the  trees,  to  his  mind,  seemed  of  the  one  hue,  and  dripping 
with  gouts  of  blood.  The  demon  was  present  in  every  thought. 
He  had  simply  changed  his  plan  of  operations.    A  long  train 


252-  THE  YEMASSEE. 

of  circumstances  and  their  concomitants  crowded  upon  the 
mental  vision  of  the  youth — circumstances  of  strife,  conceal- 
ment, future  success — deep,  long-looked  for  enjoyment — and 
still,  with  all,  came  the  beautiful  image  of  Bess  Matthews. 

"  Thus  the  one  passion  subject  makes  of  all, 
And  slaves  of  the  strong  sense — " 

There  was  a  delirious  whirl — a  rich,  confused  assemblage  of 
the  strange,  the  sweet,  the  wild,  in  his  spirit,  that,  in  his 
morbid  condition,  was  a  deep  delight;  and,  without  an  effort 
to  bring  order  to  the  adjustment  of  this  confusion,  as  would 
have  been  the  case  with  a  well-regulated  mind — without  a 
purpose  in  his  own  view — he  advanced  cautiously  and  well 
concealed  behind  the  trees,  and  approached  the  individual 
whom  he  had  long  since  accustomed  himself  only  to  regard 
as  an  enemy.  Concealment  is  a  leading  influence  of  crime 
with  individuals  not  accustomed  to  refer  all  their  feelings 
and  thoughts  to  the  control  of  just  principles,  and  the  remote- 
ness and  the  silence,  the  secrecy  of  the  scene,  and  the  ease 
with  which  the  crime  could  be  covered  up,  were  among  the 
moving  causes  which  prompted  the  man  to  murder,  who  had 
a  little  before  meditated  suicide. 

Harrison  had  alighted  from  his  horse,  and  was  then  busied 
in  fastening  his  bridle  to  a  swinging  branch  of  the  tree  under 
which  he  stood.  Having  done  this,  and  carefully  thrown  the 
stirrups  across  the  saddle,  he  left  him,  and  sauntering  back 
a  few  paces  to  a  spot  of  higher  ground,  he  cast  himself, 
with  the  composure  of  an  old  hunter,  at  full  length  upon 
the  long  grass,  which  tufted  prettily  the  spot  he  had  chosen. 
This  done,  he  sounded  merrily  three  several  notes  upon  the 
horn  which  hung  about  his  neck,  and  seemed  then  to  await 
the  coming  of  another. 

The  blast  of  the  horn  gave  quickness  to  the  approach  of 
Hugh  Grayson,  who  had  been  altogether  unnoticed  by  Harri- 
son :  and  he  now  stood  in  the  shadow  of  a  tree,  closely  observ- 
ing the  fine,  manly  outline,  the  graceful  position,  and  the 
entire  symmetry  of  his  rival's  extended  person.  He  saw,  and 
his  passions  grew  more  and  more  tumultuous  with  the  survey. 
His  impulses  became  stronger  as  his  increasing  thoughts  grew 
more  strange.    There  was  a  feeling  of  strife,  and  a  dream  of 


THE  YEMASSEE.  253 

blood  in  his  fancy — he  longed  for  the  one,  and  his  eye  saw  the 
other — a  rich,  attractive,  abundant  stream,  pouring,  as  it 
were,  from  the  thousand  arteries  of  some  overshadowing  tree. 
The  reasoning  powers  all  grew  silent — the  moral  faculties 
were  distorted  with  the  survey ;  and  the  feelings  were  only  so 
many  winged  arrows  goading  him  on  to  evil.  For  a  time,  the 
guardian  conscience — that  high  standard  of  moral  education, 
without  which  we  cease  to  be  human,  and  are  certainly 
unhappy — battled  stoutly ;  and  taking  the  shape  of  a  thought, 
which  told  him  continually  of  his  mother,  kept  back,  nervously 
restless,  the  hand  which  clutched  the  knife.  But  the  fierce 
passions  grew  triumphant,  with  the  utterance  of  a  single 
name  from  the  lips  of  Harrison, — that  of  Bess  Matthews, 
mingled  with  a  momentary  catch  of  song,  such  as  is  poured 
forth,  almost  unconsciously,  by  the  glad  and  ardent  affection. 
Even  as  this  little  catch  of  song  smote  upon  his  senses,  Hugh 
Grayson  sprang  from  the  shadow  of  the  tree  which  had  con- 
cealed him,  and  cast  himself  headlong  upon  the  bosom  of 
the  prostrate  man. 

Harrison  grappled  his  assailant,  and  struggled  with  power- 
ful limbs,  in  his  embrace,  crying  out,  as  he  did  so : 

"  Ha  !  why  is  this  ?  Who  art  thou  ?  Would'st  thou  murder 
me,  ruffian  ?  " 

"Ay!  murder  is  the  word!  Murder!  I  would  have  thy 
blood.     I  would  drink  it !  " 

Such  was  the  answer  of  the  madman,  and  the  knife  flashed 
in  his  grasp. 

"  Horrible !  but  thou  wilt  fight  for  it,  murderer,"  was  the 
reply  of  Harrison;  while,  struggling  with  prodigious  effort, 
though  at  great  disadvantage  from  the  closely  pressing  form 
of  Grayson,  whose  knee  was  upon  his  breast,  he  strove  with 
one  hand,  at  the  same  moment  to  free  his  own  knife  from  its 
place  in  his  bosom,  while  aiming  to  ward  off  with  the  other 
hand  the  stroke  of  his  enemy.  The  whole  affair  had  been  so 
sudden,  so  perfectly  unlooked-for  by  Harrison,  who,  not  yet 
in  the  Indian  country,  had  not  expected  danger,  that  he  could 
not  but  conceive  that  the  assailant  had  mistaken  him  for 
another.     In  the  moment,  therefore,  he  appealed  to  him. 

"  Thou  hast  erred,  stranger.     I  am  not  he  thou  seekest." 

"  Thou  liest,"  was  the  grim  response  of  Grayson. 


25  i  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"Ha!  who  art  thou ?» 

"  Thy  enemy — in  life — in  death — through  the  past,  and 
for  the  long  future,  though  it  be  endless, — still  thine  enemy. 
I  hate — I  will  destroy  thee.  Thou  hast  lain  in  my  path — thou 
hast  darkened  my  hope — thou  hast  doomed  me  to  eternal  woe. 
Shalt  thou  have  what  thou  hast  denied  me?  Shalt  thou  live 
to  win  what  I  have  lost?  Ko — I  have  thee.  There  is  no  aid 
for  thee.  In  another  moment,  and  I  am  revenged.  Die — 
die  like  a  dog,  since  thou  hast  doomed  me  to  live,  and  to  feel 
like  one.     Die!" 

The  uplifted  eyes  of  Harrison  beheld  the  blade  descending 
in  the  strong  grasp  of  his  enemy.  One  more  effort,  one  last 
struggle ;  for  the  true  mind  never  yields.  While  reason  lasts,, 
hope  lives,  for  the  natural  ally  of  human  reason  is  hope. 
But  he  struggled  in  vain.  The  hold  taken  by  his  assailant  was 
unrelaxing — that   of   iron;   and   the   thoughts   of    Harrison, 


though  still  he  struggled,  were  strangely  mingling  with  the 


*&' 


prayer,  and  the  sweet  dream  of  a  passion,  now  about  to  be 
defrauded  of  its  joys  for  ever — but,  just  at  the  moment  when 
he  had  given  himself  up  as  utterly  lost,  the  grasp  of  his  foe 
was  withdrawn.  The  criminal  had  relented — the  guardian 
conscience  had  resumed  her  sway  in  time  for  the  safety  of  both 
the  destroyer  and  his  victim. 

And  what  a  revulsion  of  feeling  and  of  sense !  How  terri- 
ble is  passion — how  terrible  in  its  approach — how  more  terri- 
ble in  its  passage  and  departure !  The  fierce  madman,  a 
moment  before  ready  to  drink  a  goblet-draught  from  the 
heart  of  his  enemy,  now  trembled  before  him,  like  a  leaf 
half  detached  by  the  frost,  and  yielding  at  the  first  breathings 
of  the  approaching  zephyr.  Staggering  back,  as  if  himself 
struck  with  the  sudden  shaft  of  death,  Grayson  sank  against 
the  tree  from  which  he  had  sprung  in  his  first  assault,  and 
[wrung]  his  hands  in  agony.  His  breast  heaved  like  a  wave 
of  the  ocean  when  the  winds  gather  in  their  desperate  frolic 
over  its  alway  sleepless  bosom;  and  his  whole  frame  was 
rocked  to  and  fro,  with  the  convulsions  of  his  spirit.  Harri- 
son rose  to  his  feet  the  moment  he  had  been  released,  and 
with  a  curiosity  not  unmingled  with  caution,  approached  the 
unhappy  man. 

"  What !    Master  Hugh  Graj^son !  "  he  exclaimed  naturally 


THE  YEMASSEE.  255 

enough,  as  he  found  out  who  he  was,  "  what  has  tempted  thee 
to  this  madness — wherefore  ?  " 

"  Ask  me  not — ask  me  not — in  mercy,  ask  me  not.  Thou 
art  safe,  thou  art  safe.  I  have  not  thy  blood  upon  my  hands ; 
thank  God  for  that.  It  was  her  blessing  that  saved  thee — 
that  saved  me;  oh,  mother,  how  I  thank  thee  for  that  bless- 
ing. It  took  the  madness  from  my  spirit  in  the  moment  when 
I  would  have  struck  thee.  Harrison,  even  with  as  fell  a  joy  as 
the  Indian  strikes  in  battle.  Go — thou  art  safe.  Leave  me,  I 
pray  thee.  Leave  me  to  my  own  dreadful  thought — the 
thought  which  hates,  and  would  just  now  have  destroyed 
thee." 

"But  wherefore  that  thought,  Master  Grayson?  Thou  art 
but  young  to  have  such  thoughts,  and  shouldst  take  counsel 
— and  why  such  should  be  thy  thoughts  of  me,  I  would  know 
from  thy  own  lips,  which  have  already  said  so  much  that  is 
strange  and  unwelcome." 

u  Strange,  dost  thou  say/'  exclaimed  the  youth  with  a  wild 
grin,  "  not  strange — not  strange.  But  go — go — leave  me,  lest 
the  dreadful  passion  come  back.  Thou  didst  wrong  me — 
thou  hast  done  me  the  worst  of  wrongs,  though,  perchance, 
thou  knowest  it  not.  But  it  is  over  now — thou  art  safe.  I  ask 
thee  not  to  forgive,  but  if  thou  wouldst  serve  me,  Master 
Harrison — " 

"  Speak !  "  said  the  other,  as  the  youth  paused. 

"  If  thou  wouldst  serve  me, — think  me  thy  foe,  thy  deadly 
foe ;  one  waiting  and  in  mood  to  slay,  and  so  thinking,  as  one 
bound  to  preserve  himself  at  all  hazard,  use  thy  knife  upon 
my  bosom  now,  as  I  would  have  used  mine  upon  thee. 
Strike,  if  thou  wouldst  serve  me,"  And  he  dashed  his  hand 
upon  the  bared  breast  violently  as  he  spoke. 

"  Thou  art  mad,  Master  Grayson — to  ask  of  me  to  do  such 
follv.     Hear  me  but  a  while" — 

But  the  other  heard  him  not, — he  muttered  to  himself 
half  incoherent  words  and  sentences. 

"  First  suicide — miserable  wretch, — and  then,  God  of 
Heaven  !  that  I  should  have  been  so  nigh  to  murder."  and 
he  sobbed  like  a  child  before  the  man  he  had  striven  to  slay, 
until  pity  had  completely  taken  the  place  of  every  other 
feeling  in  the  bosom  of  Harrison.    At  this  moment  the  waving 


256  THE  YEMASSEE. 

of  a  torch-light  appeared  through  the  woods  at  a  little  dis- 
tance. The  criminal  started  as  if  in  terror,  and  was  about 
to  fly  from  the  spot,  but  Harrison  interposed  and  prevented 
him. 

"  Stay,  Master  Grayson — go  not.  The  light  comes  in  the 
hands  of  thy  brother,  who  is  to  put  me  across  the  river. 
Thou  wilt  return  with  him,  and  may  thy  mood  grow  gentler 
and  thy  thoughts  wiser.  Thou  hast  been  rash  and  foolish,  but 
I  mistake  not  thy  nature,  which  I  hold  meant  for  better 
things — I  regard  it  not,  therefore,  to  thy  harm;  and  to  keep 
thee'f rom  a  thought  which  will  trouble  thee  more  than  it  can 
harm  me  now,  I  will  crave  of  thee  to  lend  all  thy  aid  to 
assist  thy  mother  from  her  present  habitation,  as  she  has 
agreed,  upon  the  advice  of  thy  brother  and  myself.  Thou 
wast  not  so  minded  this  morning,  so  thy  brother  assured 
me;  but  thou  wilt  take  my  word  for  it  that  the  remove  has 
grown  essential  to  her  safety.  Walter  will  tell  thee  all.  In 
the  meanwhile,  what  has  passed  between  us  we  hold  to  our- 
selves; and  if,  as  thou  hast  said,  thou  hast  had  wrong  at  my 
hands,  thou  shalt  have  right  at  thy  quest,  when  other  duties 
will '  allow." 

"  Enough,  enough ! "  cried  the  youth  in  a  low  tone 
impatiently,  as  he  beheld  his  brother,  carrying  a  torch,  emerge 
from  the  cover. 

"  How  now,  Master  Walter — thou  hast  been  sluggard,  and 
but  for  thy  younger  brother,  whom  I  find  a  pleasant  gentle- 
man, I  should  have  worn  out  good-humour  in  seeking  for 
patience." 

"  What,  Hugh  here ! "  Walter  exclaimed,  regarding  his 
brother  with  some  astonishment,  as  he  well  knew  the  dislike 
in  which  he  held  Harrison. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  latter,  "  and  he  has  grown  more  reasonable 
since  morning,  and  is  now, — if  I  so  understand  him — not 
unwilling  to  give  aid  in  thy  mother's  remove.  But  come — 
let  us  away — we  have  no  time  for  the  fire.  Of  the  horse,  thy 
brother  will  take  charge — keep  him  not  here  for  me,  but  let 
him  bear  thy  mother  to  the  Block  House.  She  will  find  him 
gentle.  And  now,  Master  Grayson — farewell !  I  hope  to 
know  thee  better  on  my  return,  as  I  desire  thou  shalt  know 
me.     Come,  Walter." 


THE  YEMASSBE.  257 

Concealed  in  the  umbrage  of  the  shrub  trees  which  over- 
hung the  river,  a  canoe  lay  at  the  water's  edge,  into  which 
Harrison  leaped,  followed  by  the  elder  Grayson.  They  were 
soon  off — the  skiff,  like  a  fairy  bark,  gliding  almost  noise- 
lessly across  that  Indian  river.  Watching  their  progress  for 
a  while.  Hugh  Grayson  lingered  until  the  skiff  became  a 
speck;  then,  with  strangely  mingled  feelings  of  humiliation 
and  satisfaction,  leaping  upon  the  steed  which  had  been  given 
him  in  charge,  he  took  his  way  to  the  dwelling  of  his  mother. 


258  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTEE  XXXII. 

At  dark,  Sanutee,  Ishiagaska,  Enoree-Mattee,  the  prophet, 
and  a  few  others  of  the  Yemassee  chiefs  and  leaders,  all 
entertaining  the  same  decided  hostilities  to  the  Carolinians, 
and  all  more  or  less  already  committed  to  the  meditated 
enterprise  against  them,  met  at  the  lodge  of  Ishiagaska,  in 
the  town  of  Pocota-ligo,  and  discussed  their  further  prepara- 
tions at  some  length.  The  insurrection  had  ripened  rapidly, 
and  had  nearly  reached  a  head.  All  the  neighbouring  tribes, 
without  an  exception,  had  pledged  themselves  for  the  common 
object,  and  the  greater  number  of  those  extending  over 
Georgia  and  Florida,  were  also  bound  in  the  same  dreadful 
contract.  The  enemies  of  the  settlement,  in  this  conspiracy, 
extended  from  Cape  Fear  to  the  mountains  of  Apalachia,* 
and  the  disposable  force  of  the  Yemassees,  under  this  league, 
amounted  to  at  least  six  thousand  warriors.  These  forces  were 
gathering  at  various  points  according  to  arrangement,  and 
large  bodies  from  sundry  tribes  had  already  made  their 
appearance  at  Pocota-ligo,  from  which  it  was  settled  that  the 
first  blow  should  be  given.  Nor  were  the  Indians,  thus  assem- 
bling, bowmen  merely.  The  Spanish  authorities  of  St. 
Augustine,  who  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  conspiracy,  had 
furnished  them  with  a  considerable  supply  of  arms;  and  the 
conjectures  of  Harrison  rightly  saw  in  the  boxes  transferred 
by  Chorley,  the  seaman,  to  the  Yemassees,  those  weapons  of 
massacre  which  the  policy  of  the  Carolinians  had  withheld 
usually  from  the  hands  of  the  redmen.  These,  however,  were 
limited  to  the  forest  nobility — the  several  chiefs  bound  in  the 
war ; — to  the  commons,  a  knife  or  tomahawk  was  the  assigned, 
and  perhaps  the  more  truly  useful  present.  The  musket,  at 
that  period,  in  the  hands  of  the  unpractised  savage,  was  not 
half  so  dangerous  as  the  bow.     To  this  array  of  the  forces 

*  "Apalachia  .  .  .  became,  afterward,  successively,  the 
colony  and  state  of  Georgia."— Simm's  History  of  South  Caro- 
lina,  p.    78. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  259 

gathered  against  the  Carolinians,  we  must  add  those  of  the 
pirate  Chorley — a  desperado  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  a  prof- 
ligate boy,  a  vicious  and  outlawed  man — daring,  criminal, 
and  only  engaging  in  the  present  adventure  in  the  hope  of 
the  spoil  and  plunder  which  he  hoped  from  it.  In  the  feeble 
condition  of  the  infant  colony  there  was  little  risk  in  his 
present  position.  Without  vessels  of  war  of  any  sort,  and 
only  depending  upon  the  mother  country  for  such  assistance, 
whenever  a  French  or  Spanish  invasion  took  place,  the 
province  was  lamentably  defenceless.  The  visit  of  Chorley,  in 
reference  to  this  present  weakness,  had  been  admirably  well- 
timed.  He  had  waited  until  the  departure  of  the  Swallow,  the 
English  armed  packet,  which  periodically  traversed  the 
ocean  with  advices  from  the  sovereign  to  the  subject.  He 
then  made  his  appearance  in  the  waters  of  the  colony,  secure 
from  that  danger,  and,  indeed,  if  we  may  rely  upon  the  his- 
torians of  the  period,  almost  secure  from  any  other ;  for  we 
are  told  that,  in  their  wild  abodes,  the  colonists  were  not 
always  the  scrupulous  moralists  which  another  region  had 
made  them.  They  did  not  scruple  at  this  or  at  that  sort  of 
trade,  so  long  as  it  was  profitable;  and  Chorley,  the  pirate, 
would  have  had  no  difficulty,  as  he  well  knew  by  experience, 
so  long  as  he  avoided  any  overt  performance,  which  should 
force  upon  the  public  sense  a  duty,  which  many  of  the  people 
were  but  too  well  satisfied  when  they  could  avoid.  It  did  not 
matter  to  many  among  those  with  whom  he  pursued  his  traffic; 
whether  or  not  the  article  which  they  procured,  at  so  cheap 
a  rate,  had  been  bought  with  blood  and  the  strong  hand.  It 
was  enough  that  the  goods  were  to  be  had  when  wanted,  of 
as  fair  quality,  and  fifty  per  cent,  cheaper  than  those  offered 
in  tlie  legitimate  course  of  trade.  To  sum  up  all  in  little,  our 
European  ancestors  were,  in  many  respects,  monstrous  great 
rascals. 

Chorley  was  present  at  this  interview  with  the  insurrec- 
tionary chiefs  of  Yemassee,  and  much  good  counsel  he  gave 
them.  The  meeting  was  preparatory,  and  here  they  prepared 
the  grand  mouvement,  and  settled  the  disposition  of  the  sub- 
ordinates. Here  they  arranged  all  those  small  matters  of 
etiquette  beforehand,  by  which  to  avoid  little  jealousies  and 
disputes  among  their  auxiliaries ;  for  national  pride,  or  rather 


260  THE  YEMASSEE. 

the  great  glory  of  the  clan,  was  as  desperate  a  passion  with 
the  southern  Indians,  as  with  the  yet  more  breechless  High- 
landers of  Scotland.  Nothing  was  neglected  in  this  interview 
which,  to  the  deliberate  mind,  seemed  necessary  to  success; 
and  they  were  prepared  to  break  up  their  meeting,  in  order 
to  [attend]  the  general  assemblage  of  the  people,  to  whom  the 
formal  and  official  announcement  was  to  be  given,  when 
Ishiagaska  recalled  them  to  a  matter  which,  to  that  fierce 
Indian,  seemed  much  more  important  than  any  other. 
Chorley  beheld,  with  interest,  the  animated  glance — 
the  savage  grin, — of  the  red  warrior,  and  though  he  knew  not 
the  signification  of  the  words  of  the  speaker,  he  yet  needed 
no  interpreter  to  convey  to  him  the  purport  of  his  speech. 

"  The  dog  must  smell  the  blood,  or  he  tears  not  the  throat. 
Haf  shall  not  the  War-Manneyto  have  a  feast?" 

Sanutee  looked  disquieted,  but  said  nothing,  while  the  eye 
of  Ishiagaska  followed  his  glance  and  seemed  to  search  him 
narrowly.  He  spoke  again,  approaching  more  nearly  to  the 
person  of  the  "well-beloved:"   . 

"  The  Yemassee  hath  gone  on  the  track  of  the  Swift  Foot, 
and  the  English  has  run  beside  him.  They  have  taken  a  name 
from  the  pale-face  and  called  him  brother.  Brother  is  a 
strong  word  for  Yemassee,  and  he  must  taste  of  his  blood,  or 
he  will  not  hunt  after  the  English.  The  War-Manneyto 
would  feast  upon  the  heart  of  a  pale-face,  to  make  strong  the 
young  braves  of  Yemassee." 

"It  is  good— let  the  War-Manneyto  have  the  feast  upon 
the  heart  of  the  English !  "  exclaimed  the  prophet,  and  such 
seeming  the  general  expression,  Sanutee  yielded,  though 
reluctantly.  They  left  the  lodge,  and  in  an  hour  a  small 
party  of  young  warriors,  to  whom,  in  his  wild,  prophetic 
manner,  Enoree-Mattee  had  revealed  the  requisitions  of  the 
God  he  served,  went  forth  to  secure  an  English  victim  for 
the  dreadful  propitiatory  sacrifice  they  proposed  to  offer, — 
with  the  hope,  by  this  means,  to  render  success  certain, — 
to  the  Indian  Moloch.* 

*  A  Phoenician  god  whom  the  ancient  Jews  often  adored  during 
their  numerous  lapses  from  the  true  faith.  Cf.  II  Kings,  23:  10. 
The  worship  of  Moloch  embraced  the  burning  of  children  alive  in 
a  red-hot  brazen  image  of  the  god. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  261 

This  done,  the  chiefs  distributed  themselves  among  the 
several  bands  of  the  people  and  their  allies,  stimulating  by 
their  arguments  and  eloquence,  the  fierce  spirit  which  they 
now  laboured  to  arouse  in  storm  and  tempest.  We  leave  them 
to  return  to  Harrison. 

The   adventure  which  he  was   now  engaged  m  was   sui- 
ficiently  perilous.     He  knew  the  danger,  and  also  felt  that 
there    were    particular    responsibilities    in    his    case    which 
increased  it  greatly.     With  this  consciousness  came  a  pro- 
portionate degree  of  caution.     He  was  shrewd,  to  a  proverb, 
among    those    who    knew    him— practised    considerably    in 
Indian  stratagem— had  been  with  them  in  frequent  conflict, 
and  could  anticipate  their  arts— was  resolute  as  well  as  dar- 
ing,  and,  with  much  of  their  circumspection,  had  learned 
skilful]  v  to  imitate  the  thousand  devices,  whether  of  warfare 
or  of  the  chase,  which  make  the  glory  of  the  Indian  brave. 
Having  given  as  fair  a  warning  as  was  in  his  power  to  those 
of  his  countrymen  most  immediately  exposed  to  the  danger, 
and  done  all  that  he  could  to  assure  their  safety  against  the 
threatening  danger,  he  was  less  reluctant  to  undertake  the 
adventure.    But  had  he  been  conscious  of  the  near  approach  of 
the  time  fixed  on  by  the  enemy  for  the  explosion — could  he 
have  dreamed  that  the  conspiracy  was  so  extensive  and  the 
outbreak  so  near  at  hand,  his  attitude  would  have  been  very 
different    indeed.      But   this   was   the    very   knowledge,   for 
the  attainment  of  which,  he  had  taken  his  present  journey. 
The  information  sought  was  important  in  determining  upon 
the  degree  of  effort  necessary  for  the  defence,  and  for  know- 
ing in  what  quarter  to  apprehend  the  most  pressing  danger. 

It  was  still  early  evening,  when  the  canoe  of  Grayson, 
making  into  a  little  cove  about  a  mile  and  a  half  below 
Focota-ligo,  enabled  Harrison  to  land.  With  a  last  warning 
to  remove  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  to  urge  as  many  more 
as  he  could  to  the  shelter  of  the  Block  House,  he  left  his 
companion  to  return  to  the  settlement ;  then  plunging  into 
the  woods,  and  carefully  making  a  sweep  out  of  his  direct 
course,  in  order  to  come  in  upon  the  back  of  the  Indian 
town,  so  as  to  avoid  as  much  as  practicable  the  frequented 
paths,  he  went  fearlessly  upon  his  way.  For  some  time, 
pioceeding  with  slow  and  heedful  step,  he  went  on  without 


262       '  THE  YEMASSEE. 

interruption,  yet  not  without  a  close  scrutiny  into  everything 
he  saw.  One  thing  struck  him,  however,  and  induced 
unpleasant  reflection.  He  saw  that  many  of  the  dwellings 
which  he  approached  were  without  fires,  and  seemed  deserted. 
The  inhabitants  were  gone — he  met  with  none;  and  he  felt 
assured  that  a  popular  gathering  was  at  hand  or  in  progress. 
For  two  miles  of  his  circuit  he  encountered  no  sign  of  human 
beings ;  and  he  had  almost  come  to  the  conclusion  that  Pocota- 
ligo,  which  was  only  a  mile  or  so  farther,  would  be  equally 
barren,  when  suddenly  a  torch  flamed  across  his  path,  and 
with  an  Indian  instinct  he  sank  back  into  the  shadow  of  a 
tree,  and  scanned  curiously  the  scene  before  him.  The  torch 
grew  into  a  blaze  in  a  hollow  of  the  wood,  and  around  the  fire, 
he  beheld,  in  various  positions,  some  fifteen  or  twenty  war- 
riors, making  a  small  war  encampment.  Some  lay  at  length, 
some  "  squat,  like  a  toad,"  and  all  gathered  around  the 
friendly  blaze  which  had  just  been  kindled  in  time  to  prevent 
him  from  running  headlong  into  the  midst  of  them.  From 
the  cover  of  the  tree,  which  perfectly  concealed  him,  he 
could  see  by  the  light  around  which  they  clustered,  not  only 
the  forms  but  the  features  of  the  warriors ;  and  he  soon  made 
them  out  to  be  a  band  of  his  old  acquaintance,  the  Coosaws — 
who,  after  the  dreadful  defeat  which  they  sustained  at  his 
hands  in  the  forks  of  Tullifinee,  found  refuge  with  the  Yemas- 
sees,  settled  the  village  of  Coosaw-hatchie,  and  being  too  small 
in  number  to  call  for  the  further  hostility  of  the  Carolinians, 
were  suffered  to  remain  in  quiet.  But  they  harboured  a  bitter 
malice  against  their  conquerors,  and  the  call  to  the  field,  with 
a  promised  gratification  of  their  long  slumbering  revenges, 
was  a  pledge  as  grateful  as  it  was  exciting  to  their  hearts. 
With  a  curious  memory  which  recalled  vividly  his  past  adven- 
ture with  the  same  people,  he  surveyed  their  diminutive  per- 
sons, their  small,  quick,  sparkling  eyes,  the  dusky,  but  irrita- 
bly red  features,  and  the  querulous  upward  turn  of  the  nose — • 
a  most  distinguishing  feature  with  this  clan,  showing  a 
feverish  quarrelsomeness  of  disposition,  and  a  want  of  becom- 
ing elevation  in  purpose.  Harrison  knew  them  well,  and  his 
intimacy  had  cost  them  dearly.  It  was  probable,  indeed,  that 
the  fifteen  or  twenty  warriors  then  grouped  before  him  were  all 
that  they  could  send  into  the  field — all  that  had  survived,, 


THE  YEMASSEE.  263 

women  and  children  excepted,  the  severe  chastisement  which 
had  annihilated  them  as  a  nation.     But  what  they  lacked  in 
number  they  made  up  in  valour— a  fierce,  sanguinary  people, 
whose  restless  habits  and  love  of  strife  were  a  proverb  even 
among  their  savage  neighbours,  who  were  wont  to  describe 
a  malignant  man — one  more  so  than  usual, — as  having  a  Coo- 
saw  tooth.    But  a  single  warrior  of  this  party  was  in  posses- 
sion of  a  musket,  a  huge  and  cumbrous  weapon,  of  which  he 
seemed  not  a  little  proud.     He  was  probably  a  chief.     The 
rc:~t  were  armed  with  bow  and  arrow,  knife,  and,  here  and 
there,  a  hatchet.  The  huge  club  stuck  up  conspicuously  among 
them,  besmeared  with  coarse  paint,  and  surmounted  with  a 
human  scalp,  instructed  Harrison  sufficiently  as  to  the  pur- 
pose of  the  party.     The  war-club  carried  from  hand  to  hand, 
and  in  this  way  transmitted  from  tribe  to  tribe,  from  nation 
tc  nation,  by  their  swiftest  runners,  was  a  mode  of  organiza- 
tion not  unlike  that  employed  by  the  Scotch  for  a  like  object. 
and  of  which  the  muse  of  Scott  has  so  eloquently  sung.*    The 
spy  was  satisfied  with  the  few  glances  which  he  gave  to  this 
little  party;  and  as  he  could  gather  nothing  distinctly  from 
their  language,  which  he  heard  imperfectly,  and  as  imper- 
fectly understood,  he  cautiously  left  his  place  of  concealment, 
and  once  more  darted  forward  on  his  journey.     Digressing 
from   his   path    as   circumstances   or   prudence   required,   he 
pursued  his  course  in  a  direct  line  towards  Pocota-ligo,  but 
had  not  well   lost  sight   of  the  fire   of  the   Coosaws.  when 
another  blaze  appeared  in  the  track  just  before  him.     Pur- 
suing a  like  caution  with  tlut  already  given,  he  approached 
sufficiently   nigh   to    distinguish    a    band    of    Sewees,    some- 
thing more  numerous  than  the  Coosaws,  but  still  not  strong, 
encamping  in  like  manner  around  the  painted  post,  the  com- 
mon ensign  of  approaching  battle.     He  knew  them  by  the 
number  of  shells  which  covered  their  garments,  were  twined 
in  their  hair,  and  formed  a  peculiar  and  favourite  ornament 
to  their  persons,  while  at  the  same  time  declaring  their  usual 
habitat.     They  occupied  one  of  the  islands  which  still  bear 
their  name — the  only  relics  of  a  nation  which  had  its  god 
and  its  glories,  and  believing  in  the  Manneyto  and  the  happy 

*  In  what  poem  does  Scott  tell  of  such  a  method  of  gathering 
the  clans  together? 


264  THE  YEMASSEE. 

valley,  can  have  no  complaint  that  their  old  dwellings  shall 
know  them  no  more.  The  Sewees  resembled  the  Coosaws  in 
their  general  expression  of  face,  but  in  person  they  were  taller 
and  more  symmetrical,  though  slender.  They  did  not  exceed 
thirty  in  number. 

The  precautions  of  Harrison  were  necessarily  increased,  as 
he  found  himself  in  such  a  dangerous  neighbourhood,  but  still 
he  felt  nothing  of  apprehension.  He  was  one  of  those  men, 
singularly  constituted,  in  whom  hope  becomes  a  strong  excit- 
ing principle,  perpetually  stimulating  confidence  and  encour- 
aging adventure  into  a  forgetfulness  of  risk,  and  a  general 
disregard  to  difficulty  and  opposition.  On  he  went,  until,  at 
the  very  entrance  to  the  village,  he  came  upon  an  encampment 
of  the  Santees,  a  troop  of  about  fifty  warriors.  These  he  knew 
by  their  greater  size  and  muscle,  being  generally  six  feet  or 
more  in  height,  of  broad  shoulders,  full,  robust  front,  and 
forming — not  less  in  their  countenances,  which  were  clear, 
open,  and  intelligent,  than  in  their  persons — a  singular  and 
marked  contrast  to  the  Sewees  and  Coosaws.  They  carried, 
along  with  the  bow,  another,  and,  in  their  hands,  a  more 
formidable  weapon — a  huge  mace,  four  or  five  feet  in  length,  of 
the  heaviest  wood,  swelling  into  a  large  bulb,  or  knot,  at  the 
end.  This  was  suspended  by  a  thong  of  skin  or  sinews  from 
the  necks.  A  glance  was  enough  to  show  their  probable  num- 
ber, and  desiring  no  more,  Harrison  sank  away  from  further 
survey,  and  carefully  avoiding  the  town,  on  the  skirts  of 
which  he  stood,  he  followed  in  the  direction  to  which  he  was 
led  by  a  loud  uproar  and  confused  clamour  coming  from  the 
place.  This  was  the  place  of  general  encampment,  a  little 
above  the  village,  immediately  upon  the  edge  of  the  swamp 
from  which  the  river  wells,  being  the  sacred  ground  of  Yemas- 
see,  consecrated  to  their  several  Manneytos  of  war,  peace, 
vengeance,  and  general  power — which  contained  the  great 
tumulus  of  Pocota-ligo,  consecrated  by  a  thousand  awful 
sacrifices,  for  a  thousand  years  preceding,  and  already  known 
to  us  as  the  spot  where  Occonestoga,  saved  from  perdition, 
met  his  death  from  the  hands  of  his  mother. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  265 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

The  preparatory  rites  of  battle  were  about  to  take  place 
around  the  tumulus.  The  warriors  were  about  to  propitiate 
the  Y'emassee  God  of  War — the  Battle-Manneyto — and  the 
scene  was  now,  if  possible,  more  imposing  than  ever.  It  was 
with  a  due  solemnity  that  they  approached  the  awful  rites 
with  which  they  invoked  this  stern  principle — doubly  solemn, 
as  they  could  not  but  feel  that  the  existence  of  their  nation 
was  the  stake  at  issue.  They  were  prostrate — the  thousand 
warriors  of  Yemassee — their  wivesj  their  children — their 
faces  to  the  ground,  but  their  eyes  upward,  bent  upon  the 
cone  of  the  tumulus,  where  a  faint  flame,  dimly  flickering 
under  the  breath  of  the  capricious  winds,  was  struggling 
doubtfully  into  existence.  Enoree-Mattee.  the  prophet,  stood 
in  anxious  attendance — the  only  person  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  fire — for  the  spot  upon  which  he  stood  was  holy.  He 
moved  around  it,  in  attitudes  now  lofty,  now  grotesque — 
now  impassioned,  and  now  humbled — feeding  the  flame  at 
intervals  as  he  did  so  with  fragments  of  wood,  which  had 
been  consecrated  by  other  rites,  and  sprinkling  it,  at  the  same 
time,  with  the  dried  leaves  of  the  native  and  finely  odorous 
vanella,  which  diffused  a  grateful  perfume  upon  the  gale. 
All  this  time  he  muttered  a  low,  monotonous  chant,  which 
seemed  an  incantation — now  and  then,  at  pauses  in  his  song, 
turning  to  the  gathered  multitude,  over  whose  heads,  as  they 
lay  in  thick  groups  around  the  tumulus,  he  extended  his  arms 
as  if  in  benediction.  The  flame  all  this  while  gathered  but 
slcwly,  and  this  was  matter  of  discontent  to  both  prophet  and 
people ;  for  the  gathering  of  the  fire  was  to  indicate  the  satis- 
faction of  the  Manneyto  with  their  proposed  design.  "While 
its  progress  was  doubtful,  therefore,  a  silence  entirely 
unbroken,  and  full  of  awe,  prevailed  throughout  the  crowd. 
But  when  it  burst  forth,  growing  and  gathering — seizing 
with  a  ravenous  rapidity  upon  the  sticks  and  stubble  with 
which  it  had  been  supplied — licking  the  long  grass  as  it  pro- 
gressed, and  running  down  the  sides  of  the  tumulus,  until  it 


266  THE  YEMASSEE. 

completely  encircled  the  savagely  picturesque  form  of  Enoree- 
Mattee  as  with  a  wreath  of  fire — when  it  sent  its  votive  and 
odorous  smoke  in  a  thick,  direct  column,  up  to  the  heavens — 
a  single,  unanimous  shout,  that  thrilled  through  and  through 
the  forest,  even  as  the  sudden  uproar  of  one  of  its  own  terri- 
ble hurricanes,  burst  forth  from  that  now  exhilarated  assem- 
bly, while  each  started  at  once  to  his  feet,  brandished  his 
weapons  with  a  fierce  joy,  and  all  united  in  that  wild  chorus 
of  mixed  fury  and  adoration,  the  battle-hymn  of  their  nation : 

"  Sangarrah-me,  Yemassee, 
Sangarrah-me — Sangarrah-me — 
Battle-god   Manneyto, 
Here's  a  scalp,  here's  a  scull, 
This  is  blood,  'tis  a  heart, 
Scalp,   scull,   blood,    heart, 
'Tis  for  thee,  battle-god, 
'Tis  to  make  the  feast  for  thee, 
Battle-god  of  Yemassee!" 

As  they  repeated  the  wild  chant  of  battle,  at  the  altars  of 
their  war-god,  chorused  by  the  same  recurring  refrain,  the 
sounds  were  caught  up,  as  so  many  signals,  by  couriers, 
stationed  along  the  route,  who  conveyed  the  sounds  to  others 
yet  beyond.  These  were  finally  carried  to  the  various  encamp- 
ments of  their  allies,  who  only  waited  to  hear  of  the  blazing  of 
the  sacred  fire,  to  understand  that  they  had  the  permission  of 
the  Yemassee  deity  to  appear  and  join  in  the  subsequent  cere- 
monial— a  ceremonial  which  affected  and  interested  them,  in 
the  approaching  conflict,  equally  with  the  Yemassees. 

They  came  at  length,  the  great  body  of  that  fierce  but 
motley  gathering.  In  so  many  clans,  each  marched  apart, 
with  the  distinct  emblem  of  its  tribe.  There  came  the  subtle 
and  the  active  Coosaw,  with  his  small  flaming  black  eye,  in 
which  gathered  the  most  malignant  fires.  A  stuffed  rattle- 
snake in  coil,  with  protruded  fang,  perched  upon  a  staff, 
f corned  their  emblem,  and  no  bad  characteristic,  for  they  were 
equally  fearless  and  equally  fatal  with  that  reptile.  Then 
came  the  Combahee  and  the  Edistoh,  the  Santee  and  the 
Seratee — the  two  latter  kindred  tribes  bearing  huge  clubs, 
which  they  wielded  with  equal  strength  and  agility,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  knife  and  bow.     Another  and  another   cluster 


THE  YEMASSEB.  267 

forming  around,  completed  a  grouping  at  once  imposing  and 
unique, — each  body,   as  they   severally  came  to   behold  the 
sacred  fire,  swelling  upwards  from  the  mound,  precipitating 
themselves  upon  the   earth   where   first   it  met  their   sight. 
The  prophet  still  continued  his  incantations,  until,  at  a  given 
signal,  when  Sanutee,  as  chief  of  his  people,  ascended  the 
tumulus,    and   bending   his   form   reverently   as   he    did   so, 
approached  him  to  know  the  result  of  his  auguries.     The 
appearance  of  the  old  chief  was  haggard  in  the  extreme — his 
countenance  bore  all  the  traces  of  that  anxiety  which,  at  such 
a  moment,  the  true  patriot  would  be  likely  to  feel — and  a 
close  eye  might  discern  evidences  of  a  deeper  feeling  work- 
ing at  his  heart,  equally  vexing  and  of  a  more  personal  nature. 
Still  his  manner  was  firm  and  nobly  commanding.  He  listened 
to  the  words  of  the  prophet,  which  were  in  their  own  language. 
Then  advancing  in  front,  the  chief  delivered  his  response  to 
the  people.     It  was  auspicious — Manneyto  had  promised  them 
success  against  their  enemies,  and  their  offerings  had  all  been 
accepted.     He  required  but  another  sacrifice,  and  the  victim 
assigned  for  this,  the  prophet   assured  them,  was  at  hand. 
Again  the  shout  went  up  to  heaven,  and  the  united  warriors 
clashed  their  weapons  and  yelled  aloud  the  triumph  which 
they  anticipated  over  their  foes. 

In  a  neighbouring  copse,  well  concealed  by  the  thicket, 
lav  the  person  of  Harrison.  From  this  spot  he  surveyed  the 
entire  proceedings.  With  the  aid  of  their  numerous  fires,  he 
was  able  to  calculate  their  numbers,  and  note  the  different 
nations  engaged,  whose  emblems  he  generally  knew.  He  lis- 
tened impatiently  for  some  evidences  of  their. precise  inten- 
tion: but  as  they  spoke  only  in  their  own.  or  a  mixed  lan- 
guage of  the  several  tribes,  he  almost  despaired  of  any  dis- 
covery of  this  kind,  which  would  serve  him  much,  when  a 
new  party  appeared  upon  the  scene,  in  the  person  of  Chorley, 
the  captain  of  the  sloop.  He  appeared  dressed  in  a  some- 
what gaudy  uniform — a  pair  of  pistols  stuck  in  his  belt— a 
broad  short  sword  at  his  side,  and  dagger — and.  though  evi- 
dently in  complete  military  array,  without  having  discarded 
the  rich  golden  chain,  which  hung  suspended  ostentatiously 
aicund  his  thick,  short,  bull-shaped  neck.  The  guise  of 
Chorley  was  Spanish,  and  over  his  head,  carried  by  one  of  his 


268  THE  YEMASSEE. 

seamen  in  a  group  of  twenty  of  them,  which  followed  him, 
he  bore  the  flag  of  Spain.  This  confirmed  Harrison  in  all 
his  apprehensions.  He  saw  that  once  again  the  Spaniard  was 
about  to  strike  at  the  colony,  in  the  assertion  of  an  old  claim 
put  in  by  his  monarch  to  all  the  country  then  in  the  possession 
of  the  English,  northward  as  far  as  Virginia,  and  to  the  south- 
west the  entire  range,  including  the  Mississippi  and  some  por- 
tion even  of  the  territory  beyond  it.  Such  was  the  vast  ambi- 
tion of  nations  in  that  day ; — such  the  vague  grasp  which  the 
imagination  took,  of  geographical  limits  and  expanse.  In 
support  of  this  claim,  which,  under  the  existing  circumstances 
of  European  convention,  the  Spanish  monarch  could  not  pro- 
ceed to  urge  by  arms  in  any  other  manner — the  two  countries 
being  then  at  peace  at  home — the  governor  of  the  one  colony, 
that  of  Spain,  was  suffered  and  instigated  to  do  that  which 
his  monarch  immediately  dared  not  attempt;  and  from  St. 
Augustine  innumerable  inroads  were  daily  projected  into 
Georgia  and  the  Carolinas :  the  Spaniards,  with  their  Indian 
allies,  penetrating,  in  some  instances,  almost  to  the  gates  of 
Charleston.  The  Carolinians  were  not  idle,  and  similar 
inroads  were  made  upon  Florida;  the  two  parent  nations, 
looking  composedly  upon  a  warfare  in  the  colonies,  which 
gratified  national  animosity,  without  perilling  national 
security,  and  indulged  them  at  a  favourite  pastime,  in  a 
foreign  battle  field;  where  they  could  help,  with  contributions, 
their  several  champions,  while  sitting  at  home,  cheek-by- jowl, 
on  terms  of  seeming  amity  and  good  fellowship.  This  sort 
of  warfare  had  been  continued  almost  from  the  commence- 
ment of  either  settlement,  and  the  result  was  a  system  of 
foray  into  the  enemy's  province  from  time  to  time — now  of 
the  Spaniards,  and  now  of  the  Carolinians. 

Harrison  was  soon  taught  to  see  by  the  evidence  before 
him,  that  the  Spaniard,  on  the  present  occasion,  had  more 
deeply  matured  his  plans  than  he  had  ever  anticipated;  and 
that — taking  advantage  of  the  known  discontents  among  the 
Indians,  and  of  that  unwise  cessation  of  watchfulness,  which 
too  much  indicated  the  confiding  nature  of  the  Carolinians, 
induced  by  a  term  of  .repose,  protracted  somewhat  longer  than 
usual — he  had  prepared  a  mine  which,  he  fondly  hoped,  and 
with  good  reason,  would  result  in  the  utter  extermination  of 


THE  YEMASSEE.  269 

the  intruders,  whom  they  loved  to  destroy,  as  on  one  san- 
guinary occasion  their  own  inscription  phrased  it,  not  so  much 
because  they  were  Englishmen,  but  "  because  they  were 
heretics."  His  success  in  the  present  adventure,  he  felt 
assured,  and  correctly,  would  place  the  entire  province  in  the 
possession,  as  in  his  thought  it  was  already  in  the  right,  of 
his  most  Catholic  Majesty. 

Captain  Chorley,  the  bucanier  and  Spanish  emissary,  for 
in  those  times  and  that  region,  the  two  characters  were  not 
always  unlike,  advanced  boldly  into  the  centre  of  the  various 
assemblage.  He  was  followed  by  twenty  stout  seamen,  the 
greater  part  of  his  crew.  These  were  armed  chiefly  with 
pikes  and  cutlasses.  A  few  carried  pistols,  a  few  muskets; 
but  generally  speaking,  the  larger  arms  seemed  to  have  been 
regarded  as  unnecessary,  and  perhaps  inconvenient,  in  an 
affair  requiring  despatch  and  secrecy.  As  he  approached, 
Sanutee  descended  from  the  mound  and  advanced  towards 
him,  with  a  degree  of  respect,  which,  while  it  was  marked 
and  gracious,  subtracted  nothing  from  the  lofty  carriage  and 
the  towering  dignity  which  at  the  same  time  accompanied  it. 
In  a  few  words  of  broken  English,  he  explained  to  Chorley 
sundry  of  their  present  and  future  proceedings — detailed 
what  was  required  of  him,  in  the  rest  of  the  ceremony;  and 
having  made  him  understand,  which  he  did  with  some  diffi- 
culty, he  reascended  the  mound,  resuming  his  place  at  the 
side  of  the  prophet,  who  all  the  while,  as  if  without  noticing 
any  thing  going  on  around,  had  continued  those  fearful 
incantations  to  the  war-god,  which  seemed  to  make  of  him- 
self a  victim.  He  was  intoxicated  with  his  own  spells  and 
incantations.  '  His  eye  glared  with  the  light  of  madness — his 
tongue  hung  forth  between  his  clinched  teeth,  which  seemed 
every  moment,  when  parting  and  gnashing,  as  if  about  to 
sever  it  in  two,  while  the  slaver  gathered  about  his  mouth  in 
thick  foam,  and  all  his  features  were  convulsed.  At  a  signal 
which  he  gave,  while  under  this  fury,  a  long  procession  of 
women,  headed  by  Malatchie,  the  executioner,  made  their 
appearance  from  behind  the  hill,  and  advanced  into  the  area. 
In  their  arms  six  of  them  bore  a  gigantic  figure,  rudely  hewn 
out  of  a  tree,  with  a  head  so  carved  as  in  some  sort  to  re- 
semble that  of  a  man.     With  hatchet  and  fire  a  rude  human 


270  THE  YEMASSEE. 

face  had  been  wrought  out  of  the  block,  and  by  means  of  one 
paint  or  another,  it  had  been  stained  into  something  like 
expression.  The  scalp  of  some  slaughtered  enemy  was  stuck 
upon  the  skull,  and  made  to  adhere,  with  pitch  extracted  from 
the  pine.  The  body,  from  the  neck,  was  left  unhewn.  This 
figure  was  stuck  up  in  the  midst  of  the  assembly,  in  the  sight 
of  all,  while  the  old  women  danced  in  wild  contortions  round 
it,  uttering,  as  they  did  so,  a  thousand  invectives  in  their  own 
wild  language.  They  charged  it  with  all  offences  comprised 
in  their  system  of  ethics.  It  was  a  liar,  and  a  thief— a 
traitor,  and  cheat — a  murderer,  and  without  a  Manneyto — in 
short,  in  a  summary  of  their  own— they  called  it  "  English — 
English— English."  Having  done  this,  they  receded,  leaving 
the  area  clear  of  all  but  the  unconscious  image  which  they 
had  so  denounced,  and  sinking  back  behind  the  armed  circle, 
they  remained  for  awhile  in  silence. 

Previously  taught  in  what  he  was  to  do,  Chorley  now  ad- 
vanced alone,  and  striking  a  hatchet  full  in  the  face  of  the 
figure,  he  cried  aloud  to  the  warriors  around : 

"  Hark,  at  this  English  dog !  I  strike  my  hatchet  into  his 
skull.     Who  will  do  thus  for  the  King  of  Spain?" 

Malatchie  acted  as  interpreter  in  the  present  instance,  and 
the  words  had  scarcely  fallen  from  his  lips,  when  Chinnabee, 
a  chief  of  the  Coosaws,  his  eyes  darting  fire,  and  his  whole 
face  full  of  malignant  delight,  rushed  out  from  his  clan,  and 
seizing  the  hatchet,  followed  up  the  blow  by  another,  which 
sunk  it  deeply  into  the  unconscious  block,  crying  aloud,  as 
he  did  so,  in  his  own  language : 

•"  The  Coosaw,—  ha !  look,  he  strikes  the  skull  of  the  Eng- 
lish !"  and  the  fierce  war-whoop  of  "  Coosaw — Sangarrah- 
me,"  followed  up  the  speech. 

"  So  strikes  the  Cherah  !— Cherah-hah,  Cherah-me !  "  cried 
the  head  warrior  of  that  tribe,  following  the  example  of  the 
Coosaw,  and  sinking  his  hatchet  also  into  the  skull  of  the 
image.  Another  and  another,  in  like  manner  came  forward, 
each  chief,  representing  a  tribe  or  nation,  being  required  to 
do  so,  showing  his  assent  to  the  war ;  until,  in  a  moment  of 
pause,  believing  that  all  were  done,  Chorley  reapproached, 
and  baring  his  cutlass  as  he  did  so,  with  a  face  full  of  the 
passion  which  one  might  be  supposed  to  exhibit,  when  facing 


THE  YEMASSEE.  271 

a  deadly  and  a  living  foe,  with  a  single  stroke  he  lodged  the 
weapon  so  deeply  into  the  wood,  that  for  a  while  its  extrica- 
tion was  doubtful — at  the  same  time  exclaiming  fiercely : 

"And  so  strikes  Richard  Chorley,  not  for  Spain,  nor 
France,  nor  Indian — not  for  any  body,  but  on  his  own  log — 
for  his  own  wrong,  and  so  would  he  strike  again  if  the  necks 
of  all  England  lay  under  his  arm." 

A  strong  armed  Santee,  who  had  impatiently  waited  his 
turn  while  Chorley  spoke,  now  came  forward  with  his  club — 
a  monstrous  mace,  gathered  from  the  swamps,  under  the 
stroke  of  which  the  image  went  down  prostrate.  Its  fall  was 
the  signal  for  a  general  shout  and  tumult  among  the  crowd, 
scarcely  quieted,  as  a  new  incident  was  brought  in  to  enliven 
a  performance,  which,  though  of  invariable  exercise  among 
the  primitive  Indians,  preparatory  to  all  great  occasions  like 
the  present,  was  yet  too  monotonous  not  to  need  in  the  end 
some  stirring  variation. 


272  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTEE   XXXIV. 

Blood  makes  the  taste  for  blood — we  teach  the  hound  to 
hunt  the  victim,  for  whose  entrails  he  acquires  an  appetite. 
We  acquire  such  tastes  ourselves  from  like  indulgences.  There 
is  a  sort  of  intoxicating  restlessness  in  crime  that  seldom 
suffers  it  to  stop  at  a  solitary  excess.  It  craves  repetition — 
and  the  relish  so  expands  with  indulgence,  that  exaggeration 
becomes  essential  to  make  it  a  stimulant.  Until  we  have 
created  this  appetite,  we  sicken  at  its  bare  contemplation. 
But  once  created,  it  is  impatient  of  employment,  and  it  is 
wonderful  to  note  its  progress.  Thus,  the  young  Xero*  wept 
when  first  called  upon  to  sign  the  warrant  commanding  the 
execution  of  a  criminal.  But  the  ice  once  broken,  he  never 
suffered  it  to  close  again.  Murder  was  his  companion — blood 
his  banquet — his  chief  stimulant  licentiousness — horrible 
licentiousness.    He  had  found  out  a  new  luxury. 

The  philosophy  which  teaches  this,  is  common  to  experience 
all  the  world  over.  It  was  not  unknown  to  the  Yemassees. 
Distrusting  the  strength  of  their  hostility  to  the  English,  the 
chief  instigators  of  the  proposed  insurrection,  as  we  have 
seen,  deemed  it  necessary  to  appeal  to  this  appetite,  along 
with  a  native  superstition.  Their  battle-god  called  for  a 
victim,  and  the  prophet  promulgated  the  decree.  A  chosen 
band  of  warriors  was  despatched  to  secure  a  white  man ;  and 
in  subjecting  him  to  the  fire-torture,  the  Yemassees  were  to 
feel  the  provocation  of  that  thirsting  impulse  which  craves  a 
continual  renewal  of  its  stimulating  indulgence.  Perhaps 
one  of  the  most  natural  and  necessary  agents  of  man,  in  his 
progress  through  life,  is  the  desire  to  destroy.  It  is  this  which 
subjects  the  enemy — it  is  this  that  prompts  him  to  adventure 
— which  enables  him  to  contend  with  danger,  and  to  flout  at 
death — which  carries  him  into  the  interminable  forest  and 

*  Emperor  of  Rome,  54-68  A.  D.  Nero  is  popularly  remembered 
as  the  kindler  of  the  fire  that  destroyed  a  large  part  of  Rome 
in  64    A.  D. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  273 

impels  the  ingenuity  into  exercise  which  furnishes  him  with 
a  weapon  to  contend  with  its  savage  possessors.  It  is  not 
surprising,  if  ?  prompted  by  dangerous  influences,  in  our  igno- 
rance, we  pamper  this  natural  agent  into  a  disease,  which 
preys  at  length  upon  ourselves. 

The  party  despatched  for  this  victim  had  been  successful. 
The  peculiar  cry  was,  at  length,  heard  from  the  thickets, 
indicating  their  success;  and  as  it  rang  through  the  wide 
area,  the  crowd  gave  way  and  parted  for  the  new  comers,  who 
were  hailed  with  a  degree  of  satisfaction,  extravagant  enough, 
unless  we  consider  the  importance  generally  attached  by  the 
red-men  to  the  requisitions  of  the  prophet,  and  the  propitia- 
tion of  their  war-god.  It  was  on  the  possession  and  sacrifice 
of  a  living  victim,  that  they  rested  their  hope  of  victory  in 
the  approaching  conflict.  Such  was  the  prediction  of  the 
prophet — such  the  decree  of  their  god  of  war — and  for  the 
due  celebration  of  this  terrible  sacrifice,  the  preparatory  cere- 
monies had  been  delayed. 

They  were  delayed  no  longer.  With  shrill  cries  and  the 
most  savage  contortions,  not  to  say  convulsions  of  bodv,  the 
assembled  multitude  hailed  the  entree  of  the  detachment  sent 
forth  upon  this  expedition  They  had  been  eminently  suc- 
cessful ;  having  taken  their  captive,  without  themselves  losing 
a  drop  of  blood.  Upon  this,  the  prediction  had  founded  their 
success.  Not  so  the  prisoner.  Though  unarmed,  he  had 
fought  desperately,  and  his  enemies  were  compelled  to  wound 
in  order  to  secure  him.  He  was  only  overcome  by  numbers, 
and  the  sheer  physical  weight  of  their  crowding  bodies. 

They  dragged  him  into  the  ring,  the  war-dance  all  the  time 
going  on  around  him.  From  the  copse,  close  at  hand,  in 
which  he  lay  concealed,  Harrison  could  distinguish,  at  inter- 
vals, the  features  of  the  captive.  He  knew  him  at  a  glance, 
as  a  poor  labourer,  named  Macnamara,  an  Irishman,  who  had 
gone  jobbing  about,  in  various  ways,  throughout  the  settle- 
ment. He  was  a  fine-looking,  fresh,  muscular  man — not  more 
than  thirty.  Surrounded  by  howling  savages,  threatened 
with  a  death  the  most  terrible,  the  brave  fellow  sustained 
himself  with  the  courage  and  firmness  which  belongs  so  gener- 
ally to  his  countrymen.  His  long,  black  hair,  deeply  satu- 
rated and  matted  with  his  blood,  which  oozed  out  from  sundry 


274  THE  YEMASSEE. 

bludgeon-wounds  upon  the  head,  was  wildly  distributed  in 
masses  over  his  face  and  forehead.  His  full,  round  cheeks, 
were  marked  by  knife-wounds,  the  result  also  of  his  fierce 
defence  against  his  captors.  His  hands  were  bound,  but  his 
tongue  was  unfettered;  and  as  they  danced  and  howled  about 
him,  his  eye  gleamed  forth  in  fury  and  derision,  while  his 
words  were  those  of  defiance  and  contempt. 

"  Ay !  ye  may  screech  and  scream,  ye  red  divils — ye'd  be 
after  seeing  how  a  jontleman  would  burn  in  the  fire,  would 
ye,  for  your  idification  and  delight.  But  it's  not  Teddy  Mac- 
namara,  that  your  fires  and  your  arrows  will  iver  scare,  ye 
divils ;  so  begin,  boys,  as  soon  as  ye've  a  mind  to,  and  don't  be 
too  dilicate  in  your  doings/' 

He  spoke  a  language,  so  far  as  they  understood  it,  perfectly 
congenial  with  their  notion  of  what  should  become  a  warrior. 
His  fearless  contempt  of  death,  his  haughty  defiance  of  their 
skill  in  the  arts  of  torture — his  insolent  abuse — were  all  so 
much  in  his  favour.  They  were  proofs  of  the  true  brave,  and 
they  found,  under  the  bias  of  their  habits  and  education,  an 
added  pleasure  in  the  belief,  that  he  would  stand  well  the 
torture,  and  afford  them  a  protracted  enjoyment  of  the  spec- 
tacle. His  execrations,  poured  forth  freely  as  they  forced  him 
into  the  area,  were  equivalent  to  one  of  their  own  death- 
songs,  and  they  regarded  it  as  his. 

He  was  not  so  easily  compelled  in  the  required  direction. 
Unable  in  any  other  way  to  oppose  them,  he  gave  them  as 
much  trouble  as  he  could,  and  in  no  way  sought  to  promote 
his  own  progress.  This  was  good  policy,  perhaps;  for  this 
passive  resistance — the  most  annoying  of  all  its  forms, — was 
not  unlikely  to  bring  about  an  impatient  blow,  which  might 
save  him  from  the  torture.  In  another  case,  such  might  have 
been  the  result  of  the  course  taken  by  Macnamara ;  but  now, 
the  prophecy  was  too  important  an  object;  and  the  red  men 
can  be  politic  enough  in  their  passions  when  they  will.  Though 
they  handled  him  roughly  enough,  his  captors  yet  forbore 
any  excessive  violence.  Under  a  shower  of  kicks,  cuffs,  and 
blows  from  every  quarter,  the  poor  fellow,  still  cursing  them 
to  the  last,  hissing  at  and  spitting  upon  them,  was  forced  to 
a  tree ;  and  in  a  few  moments  tightly  lashed  back  against  it. 
A  thick  cord  secured  him  around  the  body  to  its  overgrown 


THE  YEMASSEE.  275 

trunk,  while  his  hands,  forced  up  in  a  direct  line  above  his 
head,  were  fastened  to  the  tree  with  withes — the  two  palms 
turned  outwards,  nearly  meeting,  and  so  well  corded  as  to  be 
perfectly  immovable. 

A  cold  chill  ran  through  all  the  veins  of  Harrison,  and  he 
grasped  his  knife  with  a  clutch  as  tenacious  as  that  of  his 
fast-clinched  teeth,  while  he  looked,  from  his  place  of  con- 
cealment, upon  these  dreadful  preparations  for  the  Indian 
torture.  The  captive  was  seemingly  less  sensible  of  its  terrors. 
All  the  while,  with  a  tongue  that  seemed  determined  to 
supplv,  so  far  as  it  might,  the  forced  inactivity  of  all  other 
members,  he  shouted  forth  his  scorn  and  execrations. 

"  The  pale-face  will  sing  his  death-song/'  cried  a  young 
warrior  in  the  ears  of  the  victim,  as  he  flourished  his  toma- 
hawk around  his  head.  The  sturdy  Irishman  did  not  com- 
prehend the  language,  but  he  did  the  action,  and  his  answer 
seemed  a  full  compliance  with  the  requisitions.  His  speech 
was  a  shout  or  scream,  and  his  words  were  those  of  desperate 
defiance. 

"Ay,  ye  miserable  red  nagers, — ye  don't  frighten  Teddy 
Macnamara  now  so  aisily.  He  is  none  of  yer  spalpeens, 
honies,  to  be  frightened  by  your  bows  and  your  pinted  sticks, 
ye  red  nagers.  It  isn't  your  knives,  nor  your  hatchets,  that's 
going  to  make  Teddy  beg  yer  pardon,  and  ax  for  yer  marries. 
I  don't  care  for  your  knives,  and  your  hatchets,  at  all,  at  all, 
ye  red  divils.  Xot  I — by  my  faith,  and  my  own  ould  father, 
that  was  a  Teddy  before  me." 

They  took  him  at  his  word,  and  their  preparations  were 
soon  made  for  the  torture.  A  hundred  torches  of  the  gummy 
pine  were  placed  to  kindle  in  a  neighbouring  fire — a  hundred 
old  women  stood  ready  to  employ  them.  These  were  to  be 
applied  as  a  sort  of  cautery,  to  the  arrow  and  knife-wounds 
which  the  more  youthful  savages  were  expected,  in  their 
sports,  to  inflict.  It  was  upon  their  captives,  in  this  manner, 
that  the  youth  of  the  nation  was  practised.  It  was  in  this 
school  that  the  boys  were  prepared  to  become  men — to  inflict 
pain  as  well  as  to  submit  to  it.  To  these  two  classes,— for 
this  was  one  of  the  peculiar  features  of  the  Indian  torture, — 
the  fire-sacrifice,  in  its  initial  penalties,  was  commonly 
assigned ;  and  both  of  them  were  ready  at  hand  to  engage  in 


276  THE  YEMASSEE. 

it.  How  beat  the  heart  of  Harrison  with  conflicting  emotions, 
in  the  shelter  of  the  adjacent  bush,  as  he  surveyed  each  step 
in  the  prosecution  of  these  horrors ! 

They  began.  A  dozen  youth,  none  over  sixteen,  came  for- 
ward and  ranged  themselves  in  front  of  the  prisoner. 

"And  for  what  do  ye  face  me  down  after  that  sort,  ye 
dirty  little  red  nagers  ?  "  cried  the  sanguine  prisoner. 

They  answered  him  with  a  whoop — a  single  shriek,  and 
the  face  of  the  brave  fellow  paled  then,  for  a  moment,  with 
that  sudden  yell — that  mere  promise  of  the  war — the  face 
which  had  not  paled  in  the  actual  conflict  through  which  he  had 
already  gone.  But  it  was  for  a  moment  only,  and  he  nerved 
himself  for  the  proper  endurance  of  the  more  dreadful  trials 
which  were  to  succeed  and  from  which  there  was  no  escape. 
The  whoop  of  the  young  savages  was  succeeded  by  a  simul- 
taneous discharge  of  all  their  arrows,  aimed,  as  would  appear 
from  the  result,  only  at  those  portions  of  his  person  which 
were  not  vital.  This  was  the  common  exercise,  and  their 
adroitness  was  wonderful.  They  placed  the  shaft  where  they 
pleased.  Thus,  the  arrow  of  one  penetrated  one  palm,  while 
that  of  another,  almost  at  the  same  instant,  was  driven  deep 
into  the  other.  One  cheek  was  grazed  by  a  third,  while  a 
fourth  scarified  the  opposite.  A  blunted  shaft  struck  the 
victim  full  in  the  mouth,  and  arrested,  in  the  middle,  his 
usual  execration — "  Ye  bloody  red  nagers ! "  and  there  never 
were  fingers  of  a  hand  so  evenly  separated  one  from  the  other, 
as  those  of  Macnamara,  by  the  admirably-aimed  arrows  of 
those  embryo  warriors.  But  the  endurance  of  the  captive 
was  proof  against  all  their  torture;  and  while  every  member 
of  his  person  attested  the  felicity  of  their  aim,  he  still  con- 
tinued to  shout  his  abuse,  not  only  to  his  immediate  assailants, 
but  to  the  old  warriors,  and  the  assembled  multitude,  gather- 
ing around,  and  looking  composedly  on — now  approving  this 
or  that  peculiar  hit,  and  encouraging  the  young  beginner 
with  a  cheer.  He  bore  all  his  tortures  with  the  most  unflinch- 
ing fortitude,  and  a  courage  that,  extorting  their  freest  admi- 
ration, was  quite  as  much  the  subject  of  cheer  with  the  war- 
riors as  were  the  arrow-shots  which  sometimes  provoked  its 
exhibition. 

At  length,  throwing  aside  the  one  instrument,  the  young 


THE  YEMASSEE.  277 

warriors  came  forward  with  the  tomahawk.  They  were  far 
more  cautious  in  the  use  of  this  fatal  weapon,  for,  as  their 
present  object  was  not  less  the  prolonging  of  their  own  exer- 
cise than  of  the  prisoner's  tortures,  it  was  their  wish  to  avoid 
wounding  him  fatally  or  even  severely.  Their  chief  delight 
was  in  stinging  the  captive  into  an  exhibition  of  imbecile  and 
fruitless  anger,  or  terrifying  him  into  ludicrous  apprehen- 
sions. They  had  no  hope  of  the  latter  source  of  amusement 
from  the  firmness  of  the  victim  before  them ;  and  to  rouse  his 
impotent  rage,  was  the  chief  study  in  their  thought. 

With  words  of  mutual  encouragement,  and  boasting,  gar- 
rulously enough,  each  of  his  superior  skill,  they  strove  to 
rival  one  another  in  the  nicety  of  their  aim  and  execution. 
The  chief  object  now,  was  barely  to  miss  the  part  at  which 
they  aimed.  One  planted  the  tomahawk  in  the  tree  so  directly 
over  the  head  of  his  captive,  as  to  divide  the  huge  tuft  of 
hair  which  stood  up  massively  in  that  quarter :  and  great  was 
their  exultation  and  loud  their  laughter,  when  the  head  thus 
jeoparded,  very  naturally,  under  the  momentary  impulse,  was 
writhed  about  from  the  stroke,  just  at  the  moment  when 
another  hatchet,  aimed  to  lie  on  one  side  of  his  cheek,  clove 
the  ear  which  it  would  have  barely  escaped  had  the  captive 
continued  immovable.  Bleeding  and  suffering  from  these 
blows  and  hurts,  not  a  solitary  groan  however  escaped  the 
victim.  The  stout-hearted  Irishman  continued  to  defy  and 
to  denounce  his  tormentors  in  language  which,  if  only  par- 
tially comprehended  by  his  enemies,  was  yet  illustrated,  with 
sufficient  animation,  by  the  fierce  light  gleaming  from  his  eye 
with  a  blaze  like  that  of  madness,  and  in  the  unblenching 
firmness  of  his  cheek. 

"  And  what  for  do  ye  howl,  ye  red-skinned  divils,  as  if  ye 
never  seed  a  jontleman  in  the  troubles,  in  all  yer  born  days 
before  ?  Be  aisy,  now,  and  shoot  away  with  your  pinted  sticks, 
ye  nagers, — shoot  away  and  bad  luck  to  ye,  ye  spalpeens ;  sure 
it  isn't  Tedd  Macnamara  that's  afeerd  of  what  ye  can  do,  ye 
red  divils.  If  it's  the  fun  ye'r  after  now.  honeys, — the  sport 
that's  something  like — why,  put  your  knife  over  this  thong, 
and  help  this  dilicate  little  fist  to  one  of  the  bit  shilalahs 
yonder.  Do  now,  pretty  crathers,  do — and  see  what  fun  will 
come  out  of  it.    Ye'll  not  be  after  loving  it  at  all,  at  all,  I'm 


278  THE  YEMASSEE. 

thinking,  ye  monkeys,  and  ye  alligators,  and  ye  red  nagers; 
and  them's  the  best  names  for  ye,  ye  ragamuffin  divils  that 
ye  are/' 

There  was  little  intermission  in  his  abuse.  It  kept  due 
pace  with  their  tortures,  which,  all  this  time,  continued.  The 
tomahawks  continued  to  whiz  about  him  on  every  side;  and 
each  close  approximation  of  the  instrument  only  called  from 
him  a  newer  sort  of  curse.  Harrison  was  more  than  once 
prompted  to  rush  forth  desperately,  at  all  hazards,  in  the 
hope  to  rescue  the  fearless  captive.  His  noble  hardihood,  his 
fierce  courage,  his  brave  defiance,  commanded  all  the  sympa- 
thies of  the  concealed  spectator.  But  he  had  to  withstand 
them.  It  would  have  been  madness  and  useless  self-sacrifice, 
to  have  shown  himself  at  such  a  moment,  and  the  game  was 
suffered  to  proceed  without  interruption. 

It  happened,  however,  as  it  would  seem  in  compliance  with 
a  part  of  one  of  the  demands  of  the  captive  that  one  of  the 
tomahawks,  thrown  so  as  to  rest  betwixt  his  two  uplifted 
palms,  fell  short,  and  striking  the  hide,  a  few  inches  below, 
which  fastened  his  wrists  to  the  tree,  entirely  separated  it, 
and  gave  freedom  to  his  arms.  Though  still  incapable  of  any 
effort  for  his  release,  as  the  thongs  tightly  girded  his  body, 
and  were  connected  on  the  other  side  of  the  tree,  the  fearless 
sufferer,  with  his  freed  fingers,  proceeded  to  pluck  from  his 
body,  amid  a  shower  of  darts,  the  arrows  which  had  pene- 
trated him  in  every  part.  These,  with  a  shout  of  defiance, 
he  hurled  back  towards  his  assailants,  they  answering  in  simi- 
lar style  with  another  shout  and  a  new  discharge  of  arrows, 
which  again  penetrated  his  person  in  every  direction,  inflict- 
ing the  greatest  pain,  though  carefully  avoiding  any  vital 
region.  And  now  as  if  impatient  of  their  forbearance,  the 
boys  were  made  to  give  way,  and,  each  armed  with  her  hissing 
and  resinous  torch,  the  old  women  approached,  howling  and 
dancing,  with  shrill  voices  and  an  action  of  body  frightfully 
demoniac.  One  after  another,  they  rushed  up  to  the  prisoner, 
and,  with  fiendish  fervour,  thrust  the  blazing  torches  to  his 
shrinking  body,  wherever  a  knife,  an  arrow,  or  a  tomahawk 
had  left  a  wound.  The  torture  of  this  infliction  greatly 
exceeded  all  to  which  he  had  been  previously  subjected;  and 
with  a  howl,  the  unavoidable  acknowledgment  forced  from 


THE  YEMASSEE.  279 

nature  by  the  extremity  of  pain,  scarcely  less  horrible  than 
that  which  they  unitedly  sent  up  around  him,  the  captive 
dashed  out  his  hands,  and  grasping  one  of  the  most  forward 
among  his  unsexed  tormentors,  he  firmly  held  her  with  one 
hand,°while  with  the  other  he  possessed  himself  of  the  blazing 
torch  which  she  bore.  Hurling  her  backwards,  in  the  next 
moment,  among  the  crowd  of  his  enemies,  with  a  resolution 
from  despair,  he  applied  the  torch  to  the  thongs  which  bound 
him  to  the  tree  and  while  his  garments  shrivelled  and  flamed, 
and  while  the  flesh  was  blistered  and  burned  with  the  terrible 
application,  resolute  as  desperate,  he  kept  the  flame  riveted 
to  the  suffering  part,  until  the  wythes  that  fastened  his  body 
to  the  tree,  began  to  crackle,  to  blaze  in  him,  and  finally  to 
brake  and  separate ! 

His  limbs  were  free.     There  was  life  and  hope  in  the  con- 
sciousness.    A  tide  of  fresh  and  buoyant  emotions,  actually 
akin  to  joy,  rushed  through  his  bosom,  and  he  shouted  aloud, 
with  a  cry  of  delight  and  exultation,  in  the  consciousness  of 
freedom  from  bonds  and  a  situation  which  had  been  a  mockery 
to  the  manhood  and  courage  in  his  soul.    He  bounded  forward 
with  the  cry.    His  garments  were  on  fire.    The  flames  curled 
over  him,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  feel  or  fear  them.     While 
the  red  warriors  wondered,  not  knowing  what  to  expect,  he 
still  further  confounded  them  by  that  over  head  and  heels 
evolution  which  is  called  the  somersault,  which  carried  him, 
a  mass  of  fire  into  the  centre  of  a  crowded  circle  of  men, 
boys,  and  women.     This  scattered  them  in  wild  confusion. 
A  "few  blows  were  struck  at  him  aimlessly  by  warriors  as  they 
darted  aside;  but  they  left  him  free,  and  with  a  clear  track. 
The  blazing  mass  was  a  surprise  and  terror,  and  the  captive 
rolled  over  with  impunity,  the  flames  being  soon  extinguished 
in  the  long  green  grasses  of  the  plain.     Sore,  scorched,  suf- 
fering, he  rose  to  his  feet,  shook  out  his  hands  in  defiance, 
and  with  a  wild  veil,  not  unworthy  to  have  issued  from  the 
throats  of  the  savages  themselves,  the  captive  darted  away  m 
flight,  and,  for  a  moment,  without  any  obstacle  to  freedom. 
But  the  hope  was  short-lived  in  the  bosom  of  the  fugitive. 
The  old  warriors  now  took  up  the  cudgels.     They  had  suf- 
fered the  bovs  to  enjoy  their  sports,  which,  but  for  this  un- 
expected event,  might  have  continued  much  longer;  but  they 


280  THE  YEMASSEE. 

were  not  willing  to  lose  the  victim  decreed  for  sacrifice.    As 
Macnamara  darted  away,  they  threw  the  youth  out  of  the 
path,   and  dashed   after   him   in  pursuit.     Escape  was  im- 
possible, even  had  the  Irishman  possessed  the  best  legs  in 
the  world.     The  plain  was  filled  with  enemies,  and  though 
the  forest  lay  immediately  beside  it,  and  though  the  neces- 
sities as  well  as  instincts  of  the  fugitive  prompted  him  to  seek 
its  immediate  shelter,  yet  how  should  he  escape  so  many  pur- 
suers,  and  these  men  born  of  the  forest   thickets?     They 
were  soon  upon  his  heels.     The  poor  fellow  was  still  singu- 
larly vigorous.     He  possessed  rare  powers  of  endurance,  and 
his  hurts  were  those  of  the  flesh  only,  many  of  them  only 
skin  deep.    His  very  tortures  proved  so  many  spurs  and  goads 
to  flight.    He  was  covered  with  blisters ;  and  the  arrow  smarts 
were  stinging  him  in  arms,  and  thighs,  and  legs,  like  so  many 
scarificators.     But  the  effect  was  to  work  up  his  mind  to  a 
fearful  energy;  despair  endowing  him  with  a  strength  which, 
under  no  other  condition,  he  could  have  displayed.     Very 
desperate  was  his  attempt  at  flight.     He  shouted  as  he  fled. 
He  dashed  away  right  and  left ;  narrowly  grazing  the  great 
pine? — barely  dodging  the  branches  of  the  umbrageous  and 
low-spreading  oak,  and  bounding  over  bush  and  log  with  the 
fleetness  of  the  antelope.     He  used  his  newly-won  freedom 
nimbly,  and  with  wonderful  exercise  of  agility  and  muscle; 
but  was  doomed  to  use  it  vainly.    He  could  not  escape;  but 
he  might  involve  another  in  his  fearful  fate !    His  headlong 
flight  conducted  him  to  the  very  coppice  in  which  Harrison 
lay  concealed ! 

The  cavalier  beheld  his  peril  from  this  unexpected  cause  of 
danger ;  but  there  was  no  retreat  or  evasion.  The  event  had 
occurred  too  suddenly.  He  prepared  for  the  result  with  the 
utmost  possible  coolness.  He  drew  his  knife  and  kept  close 
to  the  cover  of  the  fallen  tree  alongside  of  which  he  had  laid 
himself  down.  Had  the  flying  Macnamara  seen  this  tree  so  as 
to  have  avoided  it,  Harrison  might  still  have  maintained  his 
concealment.  But  the  fugitive,  unhappily,  looked  out  for  no 
such  obstruction.  He  thought  only  of  flight,  and  his  legs 
were  exercised  at  the  expense  of  his  eyes.  A  long-extended 
branch,  shooting  out  from  the  tree,  interposed,  and  he  saw  it 
not.     His  feet  were  suddenly  entangled,  and  he  fell  between 


THE  YEMASSEE.  281 

the  arm  and  the  trunk  of  the  tree.  Before  he  could  rise  or 
recover,  his  pursuers  were  upon  him.  He  had  half  gained  his 
feet;  and  one  of  his  hands,  in  promoting  this  object,  rested 
upon  the  tree  itself,  on  the  opposite  side  of  which  Harrison 
lay  quiet,  while  the  head  of  Macnamara  was  just  rising  above 
it.  At  that  moment  a  tall  chief  of  the  Seratees,  with  a  huge 
club,  dashed  the  now  visible  skull  down  upon  the  trunk.  The 
blow  was  fatal — the  victim  uttered  not  even  a  groan,  and  the 
spattering  brains  were  driven  wide,  and  into  the  upturned 
face  of  Harrison. 

There  was  no  more  concealment  for  the  latter  after  that, 
and,  starting  to  his  feet,  in  another  moment  his  knife  wras 
thrust  deep  into  the  bosom  of  the  astonished  Seratee,  before 
he  had  resumed  the  swing  of  his  ponderous  weapon.  The 
Indian  sank  back,  with  a  single  cry,  upon  those  who  followed 
hjm — haif  paralysed,  with  himself,  at  the  new  enemy  whom 
they  had  conjured  up.  But  their  panic  was  momentary,  and 
the"next  instant  saw  fifty  of  them  crowding  upon  the  English- 
man. He  placed  himself  against  a  tree,  hopeless,  but  deter- 
mined to  struggle  to  the  last.  But  he  was  surrounded  in  a 
moment — his  arms  pinioned  from  behind,  and  knives  from  all 
quarters  glittering  around  him,  and  aiming  at  his  breast. 
What  might  have  been  his  fate  under  the  excitement  of  the 
scene  and  circumstances  may  easily  be  conjectured,  for  the 
red  men  were  greatly  excited — they  had  tasted  blood;  and, 
already,  the  brother  of  the  Seratee  chief — a  chief  himself, — 
had  rushed  into  the  circle,  and  with  uplifted  mace,  was  about 
to  assert  his  personal  claim  to  revenge  the  death  of  his  brother 
■ — a  claim  which  all  others  were  prepared  to  yield.  But,  for- 
tunately for  the  captive,  there  were  other  motives  of  action 
among  "the  red  men  beside  revenge.  The  threatend  death  by 
the  mace  of  the  Seratee  was  arrested — the  blow  was  averted — 
the  weapon  stricken  aside  and  intercepted  by  the  huge  staff 
of  no  less  a  person  than  the  prophet. 

"He  is  mine — the  ghost  of  Chaharattee,  my  brother,  is 
waiting  for  that  of  his  murderer.  I  must  hang  his  teeth  on 
my  neck/'  was  the  fierce  cry,  in  his  own  language,  of  the 
surviving  Seratee,  when  his  weapon  was  thus  arrested.  But 
the  prophet  had  his  answer  in  a  sense  not  to  be  withstood  by 
the  superstitious  savage. 


282  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  Does  the  prophet  speak  for  himself  or  for  Manneyto  ?  Is 
Manneyto  a  woman  that  we  may  say,  Wherefore  thy  word  to 
the  prophet?  Has  not  Manneyto  spoken,  and  will  not  the 
chief  obey  ?  Lo !  this  is  our  victim,  and  the  words  of  Man- 
neyto are  truth.  He  hath  said  one  victim — one  English  for 
the  sacrifice, — and  but  one  before  we  sing  the  battle-song — 
before  we  go  on  the  war-path  of  our  enemies.  Is  not  his 
word  truth?  This  blood  says  it  is  truth.  We  may  not  slay 
another,  but  on  the  red  trail  of  the  English.  The  knife  must 
be  drawn  and  the  tomahawk  lifted  on  the  ground  of  the 
enemy,  but  the  land  of  Manneyto  is  holy,  unless  for  his  sacri- 
fice. Thou  must  not  strike  the  captive.  He  is  captive  to  the 
Yemassee." 

"  He  is  the  captive  to  the  brown  lynx  of  Seratee — is  he  not 
under  his  club  ?  "  was  the  fierce  reply. 

"  Will  the  Seratee  stand  up  against  Manneyto  ?  Hear ! 
That  is  his  voice  of  thunder,  and  see,  the  eye  which  he  sends 
forth  in  the  lightning !  " 

The  auspicious  bursting  of  the  cloud  at  that  moment — the 
vivid  flashes  which  lightened  up  the  heavens  and  the  forest 
with  a  blinding  glory,  seemed  to  confirm  the  solemn  claim 
of  the  prophet.  Sullenly  the  Seratee  chief  submitted  to  the 
power  which  he  might  not  openly  withstand.  But  baffled  in 
his  attempt  on  the  life  of  the  prisoner,  he  yet  claimed  him  as 
his  captive,  and  demanded  possession  of  him.  But  to  this 
the  prophet  had  his  answer  also. 

"  He  is  the  captive  of  the  Manneyto  of  the  Yemassee ;  on 
the  ground  sacred  to  Manneyto." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  283 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

There  was  no  resisting  this  decree  of  the  Prophet.  The 
Seratee  chief  was  silenced.  The  people  were  submissive. 
They  were  given  to  understand  that  their  new  captive  was 
to  be  reserved  for  the  sacrifice  at  the  close  of  the  campaign, 
when,  as  they  confidently  expected,  they  were  to  celebrate 
their  complete  victory  over  the  Carolinians.  Meanwhile,  he 
was  taken  back,  and"  under  proper  custodians,  to  the  place 
where  the  ceremonies  were  still  to  be  continued.  The  war- 
dance  was  begun  in  the  presence  of  the  prisoner.  He  looked 
down  upon  the  preparations  for  a  conflict,  no  longer  doubt- 
ful, between  the  savages  and  his  people.  He  watched  their 
movements,  heard  their  arrangements,  saw  their  direction, 
knew  their  design,  yet  had  no  power  to  strike  in  for  the 
succour  or  the  safety  of  those  in  whom  only  he  lived.  What 
were  his  emotions  in  that  survey  ?    Who  shall  describe  them  ? 

They  began  the  war-dance,  the  young  warriors,  the  boys, 
and  women— that  terrible  but  fantastic  whirl— regulated  by 
occasional  strokes  upon  the  uncouth  drum  and  an  attenuated 
blast  from  the  more  flexible  native  bugle.  That  dance  of 
death — a  dance,  which,  perfectly  military  in  its  character, 
calling  for  every  possible  position  or  movement  common  to 
Indian  strategy/  moves  them  all  with  an  extravagant  sort  of 
grace;  and  if 'contemplated  without  reference  to  the  savage 
purposes  which  it  precedes,  is  singularly  pompous  and  im- 
posing;  wild,  it  is  true,  but  yet  exceedingly  unaffected  and 
easy,  as  it  is  one  of  the  most  familiar  practices  of  Indian 
education.  In  this  way.  by  extreme  physical  exercise,  they 
provoke  a  required  degree  of  mental  enthusiasm.  With  this 
object  the  aborigines  have  many  kinds  of  dances,  and  others 
of  even  more  interesting  character.  Among  many  of  the  tribes 
these  exhibitions  are  literallv  so  many  chronicles.  They  are 
the  only  records,  left  by  tradition,  of  leading  events  in  their 
historv  which  they  were  instituted  to  commemorate.  An  epoch 
in  the  national  progress— a  new  discovery— a  new  achieve- 
ment—was frequently  distinguished  by  the  invention  of  a 


284  THE  YEMASSEE. 

dance  or  game,  to  which  a  name  was  given  significant  of  the 
circumstance.  Thus,  any  successful  hunt,  out  of  their  usual 
routine,  was  embodied  in  a  series  of  evolutions  at  the  gather- 
ing for  a  feast,  exhibiting  frequently  in  sport,  what  had  really 
taken  place.  In  this  way,  handed  from  tribe  to  tribe,  and 
from  generation  to  generation,  it  constituted,  a  portion,  not 
merely  of  the  history  of  the  past,  but  of  the  education  of  the 
future.  This  education  fitted  them  alike  for  the  two  great 
exercises  of  most  barbarians, — the  battle  and  the  chase.  The 
weapons  of  the  former  were  also  those  of  the  latter  pursuit, 
and  the  joy  of  success  in  either  object  was  expressed  in  the 
same  manner.  The  dance  and  song  formed  the  beginning, 
as  they  certainly  made  the  conclusion  of  all  their  adventures ; 
and  whether  in  defeat  or  victory,  there  was  no  omission  of 
the  practice.  Thus  we  have  the  song  of  war — of  scalp-taking 
— of  victory — of  death ;  not  to  speak  of  the  thousand  various 
forms  by  which  their  feelings  were  expressed  in  song,  in  the 
natural  progress  of  the  seasons.  These  songs,  in  most  cases, 
called  for  corresponding  dances;  and  the  Indian  warrior, 
otherwise  seeming  rather  a  machine  than  a  mortal,  adjusted, 
on  an  inspiring  occasion,  the  strains  of  the  prophet  and  the 
poet,  to  the  wild  and  various  action  of  the  Pythia.*  The  ele- 
ments of  all  uncultivated  people  are  the  same.  The  early 
Greeks,  in  their  stern  endurance  of  torment,  in  their  sports 
and  exercises,  were  exceedingly  like  the  North  American  sav- 
ages. The  Lacedaemonians  went  to  battle  with  songs  and 
dances ;  a  similar  practice  obtained  among  the  Jews ;  and  one 
particularly,  alike  of  the  Danes  and  Saxons,  was  to  usher  in 
the  combat  with  wild  and  discordant  anthems. 

The  survey  was  curious  to  Harrison,  but  It  was  also  ter- 
rible. Conscious  as  he  was,  not  merely  of  his  own,  but  of  the 
danger  of  the  colony,  he  could  not  help  feeling  the  strange 
and  striking  romance  of  his  own  situation.  Bound  to  a  tree — 
helpless,  hopeless — a  stranger,  a  prisoner,  and  destined  to  the 

*  In  the  New  Testament  and  in  classical  antiquities,  a  sooth- 
saying spirit,  or  demon.  "Some  ancient  writers,"  says  the 
Century  Dictionary,  "speak  of  the  serpent  Python  as  having 
delivered  oracles  at  Delphi  before  the  coming  of  Apollo  (who 
slew  it),  and  during  the  Roman  imperial  period  we  find  the 
name  often  given  to  soothsayers." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  285 

sacrifice — the  thick  night  around  him — a  thousand  enemies, 
dark,  dusky,  fierce  savages,  half  intoxicated  with  that  wild 
physical  action  which  has  its  drunkenness,  not  less  than  wine. 
Their  wild  distortions — their  hell-kindled  eyes — their  bar- 
barous sports  and  weapons — the  sudden  and  demoniac  shrieks 
from  the  women — the  occasional  burst  of  song,  pledging  the 
singer  to  the  most  diabolical  achievements,  mingled  up 
strangely  in  a  discord  which  had  its  propriet}7,  with  the  clatter 
of  the  drum,  and  the  long  melancholy  note  of  the  bugle.  And 
then,  that  high  tumulus — that  place  of  skulls — the  bleached 
bones  of  centuries  past  peering  through  its  sides,  and  speak- 
ing for  the  abundant  fulness  of  the  capacious  mansion-house 
of  death  within !  The  awful  scene  of  torture,  and  the  subse- 
quent unscrupulous  murder  of  the  heroic  Irishman — the  pres- 
ence of  the  gloomy  prophet  in  attendance  upon  the  sacred 
fire,  which  he  nursed  carefully  upon  the  mound — the  little 
knot  of  chiefs,  consisting  of  Sanutee,  Ishiagaska,  and  others, 
not  to  speak  of  the  Spanish  agent,  Chorley — m  close  council 
in  his  sight,  but  removed  from  hearing — these,  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  own  situation,  while  they  brought  to  the 
heart  of  the  Cavalier  an  added  feeling  of  hopelessness,  could 
not  fail  to  awaken  in  his  mind  a  sentiment  of  wonder  and 
admiration,  the  immediate  result  of  his  excited  thoughts  and 
fancy. 

But  the  dance  was  over  at  a  signal  from  the  prophet.  He 
saw  that  the  proper  feeling  of  excitation  had  been  attained. 
The  demon  was  aroused,  and,  once  aroused,  was  sleepless.  The 
old  women  waved  their  torches  and  rushed  headlong  through 
the  woods — shouting  and  shrieking — while  the  warriors,  dart- 
ing about  with  the  most  savage  yells,  struck  their  knives  and 
hatchets  into  the  neighbouring  trees,  giving  each  the  name  of 
an  Englishman  whom  he  knew,  and  howling  out  the  sangui- 
nary promise  of  the  scalp-song,  at  every  stroke  inflicted  upon 
the  unconscious  trunk. 

"  Sangarrali-me,  Sangarrah-me,  Yemassee"  was  the  cry  of 
each  chief  to  his  particular  division;  and  as  they  arranged 
themselves  under  their  several  commands,  Harrison  was 
enabled  to  form  some  idea  of  the  proposed  destination  of  each 
party.  To  Ishiagaska  and  Chorley,  he  saw  assigned  a  direc- 
tion which  he  readily  conjectured  would  lead  them  to  the 


286  THE  YEMASSBE. 

Block  House,  and  the  settlement  in  the  immediate  neighbour- 
hood, as  it  was  not  reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  latter  would 
desire  any  duty  carrying  him  far  from  his  vessel.  To  another 
force  the  word  Coosaw  sufficiently  indicated  Beaufort  as  the 
point  destined  for  its  assault;  and  thus,  party  after  party 
was  despatched  in  one  direction  or  another,  until  but  a  single 
spot  of  the  whole  colony  remained  unthreatened  with  an 
assailant, — and  that  was  Charleston.  The  reservation  was  suf- 
ficiently accounted  for,  as  Sanutee,  and  the  largest  division 
of  the  Yemassee  forces,  remained  unappropriated.  The  old 
chief  had  reserved  this,  the  most  dangerous  and  important 
part  of  the  adventure,  to  himself. 

A  shrill  cry — an  unusual  sound — broke  upon  the  silence, 
and  the  crowd  was  gone  in  that  instant; — all  the  warriors, 
with  Sanutee  at  their  head.  The  copse  concealed  them  from 
the  sight  of  Harrison,  who,  in  another  moment,  found  him- 
self more  closely  grappled  than  before.  A  couple  of  toma- 
hawks waved  before  his  eyes  in  the  glare  of  the  torches  borne 
in  the  hands  of  the  warriors  who  secured  him.  No  resistance 
could  have  availed  him,  and,  cursing  his  ill  fortune,  and  suf- 
fering the  most  excruciating  of  mental  griefs  as  he  thought 
of  the  progress  of  the  fate  which  threatened  his  people,  he 
made  a  merit  of  necessity,  and  offering  no  obstacle  to  the 
will  of  his  captors,  he  was  carried  to  Pocota-ligo — bound  with 
thongs  and  destined  for  the  sacrifice  which  was  to  follow  hard 
upon  their  triumph.  Such  was  the  will  of  the  prophet  of 
Manneyto,  and  ignorance  does  not  often  question  the  decrees 
of  superstition. 

Borne  along  with  the  crowd,  Harrison  entered  Pocota-ligo 
under  a  motley  guard  and  guidance.  He  had  been  intrusted 
to  the  care  of  a  few  superannuated  old  warriors,  who  were 
deemed  sufficient  for  the  service  of  keeping  him  a  prisoner; 
but  they  were  numerously  attended.  The  mob  of  the  Yemas- 
sees — for  they  had  their  mobs  as  well  as  the  more  civilized — 
consisted  of  both  sexes ;  and  when  we  reflect  upon  the  usual 
estimation  placed  upon  women  by  all  barbarous  people,  we 
shall  not  be  surprised  to  know  that,  on  the  present  occasion, 
the  sex  were  by  fax  the  most  noisy  if  not  the  most  numerous. 
Their  cries — savage  and  sometimes  indecent  gestures — their 
occasional  brutality,   and  the  freedom   and  frequency  with 


THE  YEMASSEE.  287 

which  they  inflicted  blows  upon  the  captive  as  he  approached 
them  on  his  way  to  prison,  showed  them  to  have  reached  a 
condition,  in  which  they  possessed  all  the  passions  of  the  one 
sex,  without  the  possession  of  their  powers ; — to  have  lost  the 
gentle  nature  of  the  woman  without  acquiring  the  magna- 
nimity of  the  man,  which  is  the  result  of  his  consciousness  of 
strength.  We  must  add,  however,  in  justice  to  the  sex,  that 
the  most  active  participants  in  the  torture  of  the  captives  of 
the  red-men  are  mostly  old  women  and  boys.  The  young  girls 
rarely  show  themselves  active  in  such  employments.  On  the 
present  occasion,  these  old  hags,  bearing  torches  which  they 
waved  wildly  in  air  as  they  ran,  hurried  along  by  the  side  of 
Harrison,  urging  him  on  with  smart  blows,  which  were  pain- 
ful and  annoying,  rather  than  dangerous.  Some  of  them 
sang  for  him  in  their  own  language,  songs  sometimes  of 
taunt,  but  frequently  of  downright  blackguardism.  And  here 
we  may  remark,  that  it  is  rather  too  much  the  habit  to  speak 
of  the  Indians,  at  home  and  in  their  native  character,  as 
sternly  and  indifferently  cold — people  after  the  fashion  of  the 
elder  Cato,*  who  used  to  say  that  he  never  suffered  his  wife 
to  embrace  him,  except  when  it  thundered — adding,  by  way 
of  jest,  that  he  was  therefore  never  happy  except  when  Jupi- 
ter was  pleased  to  thunder.  We  should  be  careful  not  to 
speak  of  them  as  we  casually  see  them, — when,  conscious  of 
our  superiority,  and  unfamiliar  with  our  language,  they  are 
necessarily  taciturn;  as  it  is  the  pride  of  an  Indian  to  hide 
his  deficiencies.  With  a  proper  policy,  which  might  greatly 
benefit  upon  circulation,  he  conceals  his  ignorance  in  silence. 
In  his  own  habitation,  uninfluenced  by  drink  or  any  form  of 
degradation,  and  unrestrained  by  the  presence  of  superiors, 
he  is  sometimes  even  a  jester — delights  in  a  joke,  practical 
or  otherwise,  and  is  not  scrupulous  about  its  niceness  or  pro- 
priety. In  his  council  he  is  fond  of  speaking ;  glories  in  long 
talks ;  and,  as  he  grows  old,  if  you  incline  a  willing  ear,  even 
becomes  garrulous.  Of  course,  all  these  habits  are  restrained 
by  circumstances.  He  does  not  chatter  when  he  fights  or 
hunts,  and  when  he  goes  to  make  a  treaty,  and  never  pre- 
sumes to  say  more  than  he  has  been  taught  by  his  people. 
The  customary  habit  of  the  Yemassees  was  not  departed 

*  Marcus  Porcius  Cato,  234-149  B.  C. 


288  THE  YEMASSEE. 

from  on  the  present  occasion.  The  mob  had  nothing  of  for- 
bearance towards  the  prisoner,  and  they  showed  but  little 
taciturnity.  Hootings  and  howlings — shriekings  and  shout- 
ings— confused  cries — yells  of  laughter — hisses  of  scorn — 
here  and  there  a  fragment  of  song,  either  of  battle  or  ridicule, 
gathering,  as  it  were,  by  a  common  instinct,  into  a  chorus 
of  fifty  voices — most  effectually  banished  silence  from  her 
usual  night  dominion  in  the  sacred  town  of  Poeota-ligo.  In 
every  dwelling — for  the  hour  was  not  yet  late — the  torch 
blazed  brightly — the  entrances  were  thronged  with  their 
inmates,  and  not  a  tree  but  gave  shelter  to  its  own  peculiar 
assemblage.  Curiosity  to  behold  a  prisoner,  destined  by  the 
unquestionable  will  of  the  prophet  to  the  great  sacrifice  which 
should  give  gratitude  to  the  Manneyto  for  the  victory  which 
such  a  pledge  was  most  confidently  anticipated  to  secure, — 
led  them  forward  in  droves;  so  that,  when  Harrison  arrived 
in  the  centre  of  the  town,  the  path  became  almost  entirely 
obstructed  by  the  dense  and  still  gathering  masses  pressing 
upon  them.  The  way,  indeed,  would  have  been  completely 
impassable  but  for  the  hurrying  torches  carried  forward  by  the 
attending  women;  who,  waving  them  about  recklessly  over 
the  heads  of  the  crowd,  distributed  the  melted  gum  in  every 
direction,  and  effectually  compelled  the  more  obtrusive  to 
recede  into  less  dangerous  places. 

Thus  marshalled,  his  guards  bore  the  captive  onward  to  the 
safe-keeping  of  a  sort  of  block-house — a  cell  of  logs,  some 
twelve  feet  square,  rather  more  compactly  built  than  was  the 
wont  of  Indian  dwellings  usualty,  and  without  any  aperture 
save  the  single  one  at  which  he  was  forced  to  enter.  Not 
over  secure,  however,  as  a  prison,  it  was  yet  made  to  answer 
the  purpose,  and  what  it  lacked  in  strength  and  security  was, 
perhaps,  more  than  supplied  in  the  presence  of  the  guard  put 
upon  it.  Thrusting  their  prisoner,  through  the  narrow 
entrance,  into  a  damp  apartment,  the  earthen  floor  of  which 
was  strewn  with  pine  trash,  they  secured  the  door  with  thongs 
on  the  outside,  and  with  the  patience  of  old  warriors,  they 
threw  themselves  directly  before  it.  Seldom  making  captives, 
unless  as  slaves,  and  the  punishments  of  their  own  people 
being  usually  of  a  summary  character,  will  account  for  the 
want  of  skill  among  the  Yemassees  in  the  construction  of  their 


THE  YEMASSEB.  289 

duno-eon  The  present  answered  all  their  purposes,  simply, 
perhaps,  because  it  had  answered  the  purposes  of  their  fathers. 
This  is  reason  enough,  in  a  thousand  respects,  with  the  more 
civilized.  The  prison-house  to  which  Harrison  was  borne,  had 
been  in  existence  a  century. 


290  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Harrison  was  one  of  those  true  philosophers  who  know 
always  how  to  keep  themselves  for  better  times.  As  he  felt 
that  resistance,  at  that  moment,  must  certainly  be  without  any 
good  result,  he  quietly  enough  suffered  himself  to  be  borne  to 
prison.  He  neither  halted  nor  hesitated,  nor  pleaded,  nor 
opposed,  but  went  forward,  offering  no  obstacle,  with  as  much 
wholesome  good-will  and  compliance  as  if  the  proceeding  were 
perfectly  agreeable  to  him.  He  endured,  with  no  little  show 
of  patience,  all  the  blows  and  buffetings  so  freely  bestowed 
upon  him  by  his  feminine  enemies;  and  if  he  did  not  alto- 
gether smile  under  the  infliction,  he  at  least  took  good  care 
to  avoid  any  ebullition  of  anger,  which  as  it  was  there  impo- 
tent, must  necessarily  have  been  a  weakness,  and  would  most 
certainly  have  been  entirely  thrown  away.  i^mong  the 
Indians,  this  was  by  far  the  better  policy.  They  can  admire 
the  courage,  though  they  hate  the  possessor.  Looking  round 
amid  the  crowd,  Harrison  thought  he  could  perceive  many 
evidences  of  this  sentiment.  Sympathy  and  pity  he  also  made 
out,  in  the  looks  of  a  few.  One  thing  he  did  certainly  observe 
— a  generous  degree  of  forbearance,  as  well  of  taunt  as  of 
buffet,  on  the  part  of  all  the  better-looking  among  the  specta- 
tors. Nor  did  he  deceive  himself.  The  insolent  portion  of 
the  rabble  formed  a  class  especially  for  such  purposes  as  the 
present;  and  to  them,  its  duties  were  left  exclusively.  The 
forbearance  of  the  residue  looked  to  him  like  kindness,  and 
with  the  elasticity  of  his  nature,  hope  came  with  the  idea. 

Not  was  he  mistaken.  Many  eyes  in  that  assembly  looked 
upon  him  with  regard  and  commiseration.  The  firm  but 
light  tread  of  his  step — the  upraised,  unabashed,  the  almost 
laughing  eye — the  free  play  into  liveliness  of  the  muscles  of 
his  mouth — sometimes  curled  into  contempt,  and  again  closely 
compressed,  as  in  defiance — together  with  his  fine,  manly 
form,  and  even  carriage — were  all  calculated  to  call  for  the 
respect,  if  for  no  warmer  feeling  of  the  spectators.  They  all 
knew  the  bravery  of  the  Coosah-moray-te,  or  the  Coosaw- 


THE  YEMASSEE.  291 

killer — many  of  them  had  felt  his  kindness  and  liberality, 
and,  but  for  the  passionate  nationality  of  the  Indian  character, 
the  sympathy  of  a  few  might  at  that  moment  have  worked 
actively  in  his  favour,  and  with  the  view  to  his  release. 

There  was  one  in  particular,  among  the  crowd,  who  re- 
garded him  with  a  melancholy  satisfaction.  It  was  Matiwan, 
the  wife  of  Sanutee.  As  the  whole  nation  had  gathered  to 
the  sacred  town,  in  which,  during  the  absence  of  the  warriors, 
they  found  shelter,  she  was  now  a  resident  of  Pocota-ligo. 
One  among,  but  not  of  the  rabble,  she  surveyed  the  prisoner 
with  an  emotion  which  only  the  heart  of  the  bereaved  mother 
may  define.  "  Ah !  "  she  muttered  to  herself,  in  her  own 
language, — "  ah  !  even  thus  lofty,  and  handsome,  and  brave — 
thus  with  a  big  heart,  and  a  bright  eye, — walked  and  looked 
the  son  of  Matiwan  and  the  great  chief,  Sanutee,  when  the 
young  chief  was  the  beloved  brave  of  the  Yemassee.  Is  there 
a  living  mother  of  the  Coosali-moray-te,  beyond  the  great 
waters,  who  loves  her  son,  as  the  poor  Matiwan  loved  the  boy 
Occonestoga  ? "  The  strange  enquiry  filled  the  thoughts  of 
the  woman.  Sympathy  has  wings  as  well  as  tears,  and  her 
eyes  took  a  long  journey  in  imagination  to  that  foreign  land. 
She  saw  the  mother  of  the  captive  with  a  grief  at  heart  like 
her  own;  and  her  own  sorrows  grew  deeper  at  the  survey. 
Then  came  a  strange  wish  to  serve  that  pale  mother — to  save 
her  from  an  anguish  such  as  hers :  then  she  looked  upon  the 
captive,  and  her  memory  grew  active ;  she  knew  him — she  had 
seen  him  before  in  the  great  town  of  the  pale-faces — he  ap- 
peared a  chief  among  them,  and  so  had  been  called  by  her 
father,  the  old  Warrior  Etiwee,  who,  always  an  excellent 
friend  to  the  English,  had  taken  her.  with  the  boy  Occones- 
toga— on  a  visit  to  Charleston.  She  had  there  seen  Harrison, 
but  under  another  name.  He  had  been  kind  to  her  father — 
had  made  him  many  presents,  and  the  beautiful  little  cross 
of  red  coral,  which,  without  knowing  anything  of  its  sym- 
bolical associations,  she  had  continued  to  wear  in  her  bosom, 
had  been  the  gift  of  him  who  was  now  the  prisoner  to  her 
people.  She  knew  him  through  his  disguise — her  father 
would  have  known — would  have  saved  him,  had  he  been  liv- 
ing. She  had  heard  his  doom  denounced  to  take  place  on 
the  return  of  the  war-party ;  she  gazed  upon  the  manly  form, 


292  THE  YEMASSEE. 

the  noble  features,  the  free,  fearless  carriage — she  thought 
of  Occonestoga — of  the  pale  mother  of  the  Englishman — of 
her  own  bereavement — and  of  a  thousand  other  things  belong- 
ing naturally  to  the  same  topics.  The  more  she  thought,  the 
more  her  heart  grew  softened  within  her — the  more  aroused 
her  brain — the  more  restless  and  unrestrainable  her  spirit. 

She  turned  away  from  the  crowd  as  the  prisoner  was  hur- 
ried into  the  dungeon.  She  turned  away  in  anguish  of  heart, 
and  a  strange  commotion  of  thought.  She  sought  the  shelter 
of  the  neighbouring  wood,  and  rambled  unconsciously,  as  it 
were,  among  the  old  forests.  But  she  had  no  peace — she  was 
pursued  by  the  thought  which  assailed  her  from  the  first.  The 
image  of  Occonestoga  haunted  her  footsteps,  and  she  turned 
only  to  see  his  bloody  form  and  gashed  head  for  ever  at  her 
elbow.  He  looked  appealingly  to  her,  and  she  then  thought 
of  the  English  mother  over  the  waters.  He  pointed  in  the 
direction  of  Pocota-ligo,  and  she  then  saw  the  prisoner,  Har- 
rison. She  saw  him  in  the  dungeon,  she  saw  him  on  the 
tumulus — the  names  were  gathering  around  him — a  hundred 
torturing  arrows  were  stuck  in  his  person,  and  she  beheld 
the  descending  hatchet,  bringing  him  the  coup  de  grace* 
These  images  were  full  of  terror,  and  their  contemplation 
still  more  phrenzied  her  intellect.  She  grew  strong  and  fear- 
less with  the  desperation  which  they  brought,  and  rushing 
through  the  forest,  she  once  more  made  her  way  into' the  heart 
of  Pocota-ligo. 

The  scene  was  changed.  The  torches  were  either  burnt  out 
or  decaying,  and  scattered  over  the  ground.  The  noise  was 
over — the  crowd  dispersed  and  gone.  Silence  and  sleep  had 
resumed  their  ancient  empire.  She  trod,  alone,  along  the 
great  thoroughfare  of  the  town.  A  single  dog  ran  at  her 
heels,  baying  at  intervals;  but  him  she  hushed  with  a  word 
of  unconscious  soothing, — ignorant  when  she  uttered  it.  There 
were  burning  feelings  in  her  bosom,  at  variance  with  reason — 
at  variance  with  the  limited  duty  which  she  owed  to  society — 
at  variance  with  her  own  safety.  But  what  of  these  ?  There 
is  a  holy  instinct  that  helps  us,  sometimes,  in  the  face  of  our 
common  standards.     Humanity  is  earlier  in  its  origin,  and 

*  The   finishing   stroke. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  293 

holier  in  its  claims  than  society.     She  felt  the  one,  and  forgot 
to  obey  the  other. 

She  went  forward,  and  the  prison-house  of  the  Englishman 
under  the  shelter  of  a  venerable  oak — the  growth  of  several 
silent  centuries — rose  dimly  before  her.  Securely  fastened 
with  stout  thongs  on  the  outside,  the  door  was  still  farther 
guarded  by  a  couple  of  warriors  lying  upon  the  grass  before 
it.  One  of  them  seemed  to  sleep  soundly,  but  the  other  was 
wakeful.  He  lay  at  full  length,  however,  his  head  upraised, 
and  resting  upon  one  of  his  palms — his  elbow  lifting  it  from 
the  ground.  The  other  hand  grasped  the  hatchet,  which  he 
employed  occasionally  in  chopping  the  earth  just  before  him. 
He  was  musing  rather  than  meditative,  and  the  action  of  his 
hand  and  hatchet,  capricious  and  fitful,  indicated  a  want  of 
concentration  in  his  thought.  This  was  in  her  favour.  Still, 
there  was  no  possibility  of  present  approach  unperceived; 
and  to  succeed  in  a  determination  only  half-formed  in  her 
bosom,  and,  in  fact,  undesigned  in  her  head,  the  gentle  but 
fearless  woman  had  recourse  to  some  of  those  highly  ingenious 
arts,  so  well  known  to  the  savage,  and  which  he  borrows  in 
most  part  from  the  nature  around  him.  Eeceding,  therefore, 
to  a  little  distance,  she  carefully  sheltered  herself  in  a  small 
clustering  clump  of  bush  and  brush,  at  a  convenient  distance 
for  her  purpose,  and  proceeded  more  definitely  to  the  adjust- 
ment of  her  design. 

Meanwhile,  the  yet  wakeful  warrior  looked  round  upon  his 
comrade,  who  lay  in  a  deep  slumber  between  himself  and  the 
dungeon  entrance.  Fatigue  and  previous  watchfulness  had 
done  their  work  with  the  veteran.  The  watcher  himself  began 
to  feel  these  influences  stealing  upon  him,  though  not  in  the 
same  degree,  perhaps,  and  with  less  rapidity.  But,  as  he 
looked  around,  and  witnessed  the  general  silence,  his  ear 
detecting  with  difficulty  the  drowsy  motion  of  the  zephyr 
among  the  thick  branches  over  head — as  if  that  slept  also — 
his  own  drowsiness  crept  more  and  more  upon  his  senses. 
Nature  is  thronged  with  sympathies,  and  the  undiseased  sense 
finds  its  kindred  at  all  hours  and  in  every  situation. 

Suddenly,  as  he  mused,  a  faint  chirp,  that  of  a  single 
cricket,  swelled  upon  his  ear  from  the  neighbouring  grove. 
He  answered  it,  for  great  were  his  imitative  faculties.     He 


294  THE  YEMASSEE. 

answered  it,  and  from  an  occasional  note,  it  broke  out  into 
a  regular  succession  of  chirpings,  sweetly  timed,  and  breaking 
the  general  silence  of  the  night  with  an  effect  utterly  inde- 
scribable, except  to  watchers  blessed  with  a  quick  imagination. 
To  these,  still  musing  and  won  by  the  interruption,  he  sent 
back  a  similar  response;  and  his  attention  was  suspended, 
as  if  for  some  return.  But  the  chirping  died  away  in  a  click 
scarcely  perceptible.  It  was  succeeded,  after  a  brief  interval, 
by  the  faint  note  of  a  mock-bird — a  sudden  note,  as  if  the 
minstrel,  starting  from  sleep,  had  sent  it  forth  unconsciously, 
or,  in  a  dream,  had  thus  given  utterance  to  some  sleepless 
emotion.  It  was  soft  and  gentle  as  the  breathings  of  a  flower. 
Again  came  the  chirping  of  the  cricket — a  broken  strain — 
capricious  in  time,  and  now  seeming  near  at  hand,  now  remote 
and  flying.  Then  rose  the  whizzing  hum,  as  of  a  tribe  of  bees 
suddenly  issuing  from  the  hollow  of  some  neighbouring  tree; 
and  then,  the  clear,  distinct  tap  of  the  woodpecker — once, 
twice,  and  thrice.  Silence  then, — and  the  burden  of  the 
cricket  was  resumed,  at  the  moment  when  a  lazy  stir  of  the 
breeze  in  the  branches  above  the  half-drowsy  warrior  seemed 
to  solicit  the  torpor  from  which  it  occasionally  started. 
Gradually,  the  successive  sounds,  so  natural  to  the  situation, 
and  so  grateful  and  congenial  to  the  ear  of  the  hunter, 
hummed  his  senses  into  slumber.  For  a  moment,  his  eyes 
were  half  re-opened,  and  he  looked  round  vacantly  upon  the 
woods,  and  upon  the  dying  flame  of  the  scattered  torches, 
and  then  upon  his  fast-sleeping  comrade.  The  prospect  gave 
additional  stimulus  to  the  dreamy  nature  of  the  influences 
growing  about  and  gathering  upon  him.  Finally,  the  trees 
danced  away  from  before  his  vision — the  clouds  came  down 
close  to  his  face;  and,  gently  accommodating  his  arm  to  the 
support  of  his  dizzy  and  sinking  head,  he  gradually  and 
unconsciously  sank  beside  his  companion,  and,  in  a  few 
moments,  enjoyed  a  slumber  as  oblivious. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  295 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

With  the  repose  to  slumber  of  the  warrior — the  cricket 
and  the  bee,  the  mock-bird  and  the  woodpecker,  all  at  once 
grew  silent.  A  few  moments  only  had  elapsed,  when,  cautious 
in  approach,  they  made  their  simultaneous  appearance  from 
the  bush  in  the  person  of  Matiwan.  It  was  her  skill  that 
had  charmed  the  spirit  of  the  watcher  into  sleep,  by  the 
employment  of  associations  so  admirably  adapted  to  the  spirit 
of  the  scene.  With  that  ingenuity  which  is  an  instinct  with 
the  Indians,  she  had  imitated,  one  after  another,  the  various 
agents,  whose  notes,  duly  timed,  had  first  won,  then  soothed, 
and  then  relaxed  and  quieted  the  senses  of  the  prison-keeper. 
She  had  rightly  judged  in  the  employment  of  her  several 
arts.  The  gradual  beatitude  of  mind  and  lassitude  of  body, 
brought  about  with  inevitable  certainty,  when  once  we  have 
lulled  the  guardian  senses  of  the  animal,  must  always  precede 
their  complete  unconsciousness;  and  the  art  of  the  Indian, 
in  this  way,  is  often  employed,  in  cases  of  mental  excitation 
and  disease,  with  a  like  object.  The  knowledge  of  the  power 
of  soothing,  sweet  sounds  over  the  wandering  mind,  possessed, 
as  the  Hebrew  strongly  phrased  it,  of  devils,  was  not  confined 
to  that  people,  nor  to  the  melodious  ministerings  of  their 
David.  The  Indian  claims  for  it  a  still  greater  influence, 
when,  with  a  single  note,  he  bids  the  serpent  uncoil  from  his 
purpose,  and  wind  unharmingly  away  from  the  bosom  of  his 
victim. 

She  emerged  from  her  place  of  concealment  with  a  caution 
which  marked  something  more  of  settled  purpose  than  she 
had  yet  exhibited.  She  approached  in  the  dim,  flickering 
light,  cast  from  the  decaying  torches  which  lay  scattered 
without  order  along  the  ground.  A  few  paces  only  divided 
her  from  the  watchers,  and  she  continued  to  approach,  when 
one  of  them  turned  with  a  degree  of  restlessness  which  led 
her  to  apprehend  that  he  had  awakened.  She  sank  back  like 
a  shadow,  as  fleet  and  silently,  once  more  into  the  cover  of 
the  brush.     But  he  still  slept.     She  again  approached — and 


296  THE  YEMASSEE. 

the  last  flare  of  the  torch  burning  most  brightly  before,  quiv- 
ered, sent  up  a  little  gust  of  flame,  and  then  went  out,  leaving 
her  only  the  star  light  for  her  further  guidance.  This  light 
was  imperfect,  as  the  place  of  imprisonment  lay  under  a 
thickly  branching  tree,  and  her  progress  was  therefore  more 
difficult.  But,  with  added  difficulty,  to  the  strong  mood, 
comes  added  determination.  To  this  determination  the  mind 
of  Matiwan  brought  increased  caution;  and  treading  with 
the  lightness  of  some  melancholy  ghost,  groping  at  midnight 
among  old  and  deserted  chambers  of  the  heart,  the  Indian 
woman  stepped  onward  to  her  purpose,  over  a  spot  as  silent, 
if  not  so  desolate.  Carefully  placing  her  feet  so  as  to  avoid 
the  limbs  of  the  sleeping  guard — who  lay  side  by  side  and 
directly  across  the  door-way — a  design  only  executed  with 
great  difficulty,  she  at  length  reached  the  door;  and  drawing 
from  her  side  a  knife,  she  separated  the  thick  thongs  of  skin 
which  had  otherwise  well  secured  it.  In  another  moment  she 
was  in  the  centre  of  the  apartment  and  in  the  presence  of  the 
captive. 

He  lay  at  length,  though  not  asleep,  upon  the  damp  floor 
of  the  dungeon.  Full  of  melancholy  thought,  and  almost 
prostrate  with  despair,  his  mind  and  imagination  continued 
to  depict  before  his  eyes  the  thousand  forms  of  horror  to 
which  savage  cruelty  was  probably,  at  that  very  moment,  sub- 
jecting the  form  most  dear  to  his  affections,  and  the  people 
at  large,  for  whose  lives  he  would  freely  have  given  up  his 
own.  He  saw  the  flames  of  their  desolation — he  heard  the 
cries  of  their  despair.  Their  blood  gushed  along  before  his 
eyes,  in  streams  that  spoke  to  him  appealingly,  at  least  for 
vengeance.  How  many  veins,  the  dearest  in  his  worship, 
had  been  drained  perchance  to  give  volume  to  their  currents. 
The  thought. was  horrible,  the  picture  too  trying  and  too 
terrible  for  the  contemplation  of  a  spirit,  which,  fearless  and 
firm,  was  yet  gentle  and  affectionate.  He  covered  his  eyes 
with  his  extended  palms,  as  if  to  shut  from  his  physical  what 
was  perceptible  only  to  his  mental  vision. 

A  gust  aroused  him.  The  person  of  Matiwan  was  before 
him,  a  dim  outline,  undistinguishable  in  feature  by  his  dark- 
ened and  disordered  sight.  Her  voice,  like  a  murmuring 
water  lapsing  away  among  the  rushes,  fell  soothingly  upon  his 


THE  YEMASSEE.  297 

senses.  Herself  half  dreaming — for  her  proceeding  had  been 
a  matter  rather  of  impulse  than  premeditation — the  single 
word,  so  gently  yet  so  clearly  articulated,  with  which  she 
broke  in  ivpon  the  melancholy  musings  of  the  captive,  and 
first  announced  her  presence,  proved  sufficiently  the  charac- 
teristic direction  of  her  own  maternal  spirit. 

"  Occonestoga  ? " 

"  Who  speaks !  "  was  the  reply  of  Harrison,  starting  to  his 
feet,  and  assuming  an  attitude  of  defiance  and  readiness,  not 
less  than  doubt ;  for  he  had  now  no  thought  but  that  of  fight, 
in  connexion  with  the  Yemassees.    "  Who  speaks  ?  " 

"  Ah !  "  and  in  the  exclamation  we  see  the  restored  con- 
sciousness which  taught  her  that  not  Occonestoga,  but  the  son 
of  another  mother,  stood  before  her. 

"Ah !  the  Coosah-moray-te  shall  go/'  she  said,  in  broken 
English. 

"  Who — what  is  this  ?  "  responded  the  captive,  as  he  felt 
rather  than  understood  the  kindness  of  the  tones  that  met 
his  ear;  and  he  now  more  closely  approached  the  speaker. 

"  Hush," — she  placed  her  hand  upon  his  wrist,  and  looked 
to  the  door  with  an  air  of  anxiety — then  whisperingly,  urged 
him  to  caution. 

"  Big  warriors — tomahawks — they  may  lie  in  the  grass  for 
the  English." 

"  And  who  art  thou — woman  ?  Is  it  freedom — life  ?  Cut 
the  cords,  quick,  quick — let  me  feel  my  liberty."  And  as  she 
busied  herself  in  cutting  the  sinews  that  tightly  secured  his 
wrists,  he  scarcely  forbore  his  show  of  impatience. 

"  I  am  free — I  am  free.  I  thank  thee,  God — great,  good 
Father,  this  is  thy  Providence !  I  thank — I  praise  thee ! 
And  thou — who  are  thou,  my  preserver — but  wherefore  ask? 
Thou  art—" 

"  It  is  Matiwan !  "  she  said  humbly. 

"  The  wife  of  Sanutee — how  shall  I  thank — how  reward 
thee,  Matiwan ! " 

"  Matiwan  is  the  woman  of  the  great  chief,  Sanutee — she 
makes  free  the  English,  that  has  a  look  and  a  tongue  like  the 
boy  Occonestoga." 

"  And  where  is  he,  Matiwan — where  is  the  young  warrior  ? 


298  THE  YEMASSEE. 

I  came  to  see  after  him,  and  it  is  this  which  has  brought  me 
into  my  present  difficulty." 

"  Take  the  knife,  English — take  the  knife.  Look !  the 
blood  is  on  the  hand  of  Matiwan.    It  is  the  blood  of  the  boy." 

"  Woman,  thou  hast  not  slain  him — thou  hast  not  slain  the 
child  of  thy  bosom  !  " 

u  Matiwan  saved  the  boy,"  she  said  proudly. 

"  Then  he  lives." 

"  In  the  blessed  valley  with  the  Manneyto.  He  will  build 
a  great  lodge  for  Matiwan." 

"  Give  me  the  knife." 

He  took  it  hurriedly  from  her  grasp,  supposing  her  deliri- 
ous, and  failing  utterly  to  comprehend  the  seeming  contra- 
diction in  her  language.  She  handed  it  to  him  with  a  shiver 
as  she  gave  it  up;  then,  telling  him  to  follow,  and  at  the 
same  time  pressing  her  hand  upon  his  arm  by  way  of  caution, 
she  led  the  way  to  the  entrance,  which  she  had  carefully 
closed  after  her  on  first  entering.  With  as  much,  if  not  more 
caution  than  before,  slowly  unclosing  it,  she  showed  him,  in 
the  dim  light  of  the  stars,  the  extended  forms  of  the  two 
keepers.  They  still  slept,  but  not  soundly ;  and  in  the  momen- 
tary glance  which  she  required  the  captive  to  take,  with  all 
Indian  deliberateness,  she  seemed  desirous  of  familiarizing 
his  glance  with  the  condition  of  the  scene,  and  with  all  those 
difficulties  in  the  aspect  of  surrounding  objects  with  which 
he  was  probably  destined  to  contend.  With  the  strong  excite- 
ment of  renewed  hope,  coupled  with  his  consciousness  of  free- 
dom, Harrison  would  have  leaped  forward ;  but  she  restrained 
him,  and  just  at  that  moment,  a  sudden,  restless  movement 
of  one  of  the  sleepers  warned  them  to  be  heedful.  Quick  as 
thought,  in  that  motion,  Matiwan  sank  back  into  the  shadow 
of  the  dungeon,  closing  the  door  with  the  same  impulse. 
Pausing,  for  a  few  moments,  until  the  renewed  and  deep 
breathings  from  without  reassured  her,  she  then  again  led  the 
way:  but,  as  she  half  opened  the  door,  turning  quietly,  she 
said  in  a  whisper  to  the  impatient  Harrison: 

"  The  chief  of  the  English — the  pale  mother  loves  him 
over  the  water?" 

"  She  does,  Matiwan — she  loves  him  very  much." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  299 

"And  the  chief— he  keeps  her  here — "  pointing  to  her 

heart. 

"  Always — deeply.    I  love  her  too,  very  much,  my  mother ! ;; 

"  It  is  good.  The  chief  will  go  on  the  waters — he  will  go 
to  the  mother  that  loves  him.  She  will  sing  like  a  green  bird 
for  him,  when  the  young  corn  comes  out  of  the  ground.  So 
Matiwan  sings  fo/Occonestoga.  Go,  English — but  look!— 
for  the  arrow  of  the  Yemassee  runs  along  the  path." 

He  pressed  her  hand  warmly,  but  his  lips  refused  all  other 
acknowledgment.  A  deep  sigh  attested  her  own  share  of  feel- 
ing in  those  references  which  she  had  made  to  the  son  in  con- 
nexion with  the'  mother.  Then,  once  more  unclosing  the 
entrance,  she  stepped  fearlessly  and  successfully  over  the  two 
sleeping  sentinels. 

He  followed  her,  but  with  less  good  fortune.  Whether  it 
was  that  he  saw  indistinctly  in  that  unaccustomed  light,  and 
brushed  one  of  the  men  with  his  foot,  or  whether  the  latter 
had  been  restless  before,  and  only  in  an  imperfect  slumber 
just  then  broken,  may  not  now  be  said;  but  at  that  inauspi- 
cious moment  he  awakened.  With  waking  comes  instant  con- 
sciousness to  the  Indian,  who  differs  in  this  particular  widely 
from  the  negro.  He  knew  his  prisoner  at  a  glance,  and 
grappled  him,  as  he  lay.  by  the  leg.  Harrison,  with  an  instinct 
quite  as  ready,  dashed  his  unobstructed  heel  into  the  face  of 
the  warrior,  and  though  released,  would  have  followed  up  his 
blow  by  a  stroke  from  his  uplifted  and  bared  knife;  but  his 
arm  was  held  back  by  Matiwan.  Her  instinct  was  gentler 
and  wiser.  In  broken  English,  she  bade  him  fly  for  his  life. 
His  own  sense  taught  him  in  an  instant  the  propriety  of  this 
course,  and  before  the  aroused  Indian  could  recover  from  the 
blow  of  his  heel,  and  while  he  strove  to  waken  his  comrade, 
the  Englishman  bounded  down,  with  a  desperate  speed,  along 
the  great  thoroughfare  leading  to  the  river.  The  warriors 
were  soon  at  his  heels,  but  the  generous  mood  of  Matiwan  did 
not  rest  with  what  she  had  already  done.  She  threw  herself 
in  their  way,  and  thus  gained  him  some  little  additional  time. 
But  they  soon  put  her  aside,  and  their  quick  tread  in  the 
pathway  taken  by  the  fugitive  warned  him  to  the  exercise  of 
all  his  efforts.  At  the  same  time  he  coolly  calculated  his 
course  and  its  chances.     As  he  thought  thus  he  clutched  the 


300  THE  YEMASSEE. 

knife  given  him  by  Matiwan,  with  an  emotion  of  confidence 
which  the  warrior  must  always  feel,  having  his  limbs,  and 
grasping  a  weapon  with  which  his  hand  has  been  familiar. 

"  At  least,"  thought  he,  fiercely, — "  they  must  battle  for  the 
life  they  take.    They  gain  no  easy  prey." 

Thus  did  he  console  himself  in  his  flight  with  his  pursuers 
hard  behind  him.  In  his  confidence  he  gained  new  strength; 
and  thus  the  well-exercised  mind  gives  strength  to  the  body 
which  it  informs.  Harrison  was  swift  of  foot,  also, — few  of 
the  whites  were  better  practised  or  more  admirably  formed 
for  the  events  and  necessities  of  forest  life.  But  the  Indian 
has  a  constant  exercise  which  makes  him  a  prodigy  in  the  use 
of  his  legs.  In  a  journey  of  day  after  day,  he  can  easily  out- 
wind  any  horse.  Harrison  knew  this, — but  then  he  thought 
of  his  knife.  They  gained  upon  him,  and,  as  he  clutched 
the  weapon  firmly  in  his  grasp,  his  teeth  grew  tightly  fixed, 
and  he  began  to  feel  the  rapturous  delirium  which  makes  the 
desire  for  the  strife.  Still,  the  river  was  not  far  off,  and 
though  galled  at  the  necessity  of  flight,  he  yet  felt  what  was 
due  to  his  people,  at  that  very  moment,  most  probably,  under 
the  stroke  of  their  savage  butchery.  He  had  no  time  for 
individual  conflict,  in  which  nothing  might  be  done  for  them. 
The  fresh  breeze  now  swelled  up  from  the  river,  and  re- 
encouraged  him. 

"  Could  I  gain  that,"  he  muttered  to  himself, — "  could  I 
gain  that,  I  were  safe.     Of  God's  surety,  I  may." 

A  look  over  his  shoulder,  and  a  new  start.  They  were 
behind  him,  but  not  so  close  as  he  had  thought.  Coolly  enough 
he  bounded  on,  thinking  aloud : — 

"  They  cannot  touch,  but  they  may  shoot.  Well — if  they 
do,  they  must  stop,  and  a  few  seconds  more  will  give  me  a  cover 
in  the  waters.  Let  them  shoot — let  them  shoot.  The  arrow  is 
better  than  the  stake."  Thus  muttering  to  himself,  but  in 
tones  almost  audible  to  his  enemies,  he  kept  his  way  with  a 
heart  something  lighter  from  his  momentary  effort  at  phi- 
losophy. He  did  not  perceive  that  his  pursuers  had  with 
them  no  weapon  but  the  tomahawk,  or  his  consolations  might 
have  been  more  satisfactory. 

In  another  moment  he  was  upon  the  banks  of  the  river; 
and  there,  propitiously  enough,  a  few  paces  from  the  shore, 


THE  YEMASSEE.  301 

lay  a  canoe  tied  to  a  pole  that  stood  upright  in  the  stream. 
He  blessed  his  stars  as  he  beheld  it,  and  pausing  not  to  doubt 
whether  a  paddle  lay  in  its  bottom  or  not,  he  plunged  inconti- 
nently forward,  wading  almost  to  his  middle  before  he  reached 
it.  He  was  soon  snug  enough  in  its  bottom,  and  had  suc- 
ceeded in  cutting  the  thong  with  his  knife  when  the  Indians 
appeared  upon  the  bank.  Dreading  their  arrows,  for  the 
broad  glare  of  the  now  rising  moon  gave  them  sufficient  light 
for  their  use  had  they  been  provided  with  them,  he  stretched 
himself  at  length  along  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  and  left  it  to 
the  current,  which  set  strongly  downward.  But  a  sudden 
plunge  into  the  water  of  one  and  then  the  other  of  his  pur- 
suers, left  him  without  the  hope  of  getting  off  so  easily. 
The  danger  came  in  a  new  shape,  and  he  properly  rose  to 
meet  it.  Placing  himself  in  a  position  which  would  enable 
him  to  turn  readily  upon  any  point  which  they  might  assail, 
he  prepared  for  the  encounter.  One  of  the  warriors  was 
close  upon  him — swimming  lustily,  and  carrying  his  toma- 
hawk grasped  by  the  handle  in  his  teeth.  The  other  came 
at  a  little  distance,  and  promised  soon  to  be  up  with  him. 
The  first  pursuer  at  length  struck  the  canoe,  raised  himself 
sufficiently  on  the  water  for  that  purpose,  and  his  left  hand 
grasped  one  of  the  sides,  while  the  right  prepared  to  take 
the  hatchet  from  his  jaws.  But  with  the  seizure  of  the  boat 
by  his  foe  came  the  stroke  of  Harrison.  His  knife  drove  half 
through  the  hand  of  the  Indian,  who  released  his  grasp  with 
a  howl  that  made  his  companion  hesitate.  Just  at  that  instant 
a  third  plunge  into  the  water,  as  of  some  prodigious  body, 
called  for  the  attention  of  all  parties  anew.  The  pursuers 
now  became  the  fugitives,  as  their  quick  senses  perceived  a 
new  and  dangerous  enemy  in  the  black  mass  surging  towards 
them,  with  a  power  and  rapidity  which  taught  them  the 
necessity  of  instant  flight,  and  with  no  half  effort.  They 
well  knew  the  fierce  appetite  and  the  tremendous  jaws  of  the 
native  alligator,  the  American  crocodile, — one  of  the  largest 
of  which  now  came  looming  towards  them.  Self-preservation 
was  the  word.  The  captive  was  forgotten  altogether  in  their 
own  danger ;  and  swimming  with  all  their  strength,  and  with 
all  their  skill,  in  a  zigzag  manner,  so  as  to  compel  their 
unwieldy  pursuer  to  make  frequent  and  sudden  turns  in  the 


302  THE  YEMASSEE. 

chase,  occasionally  pausing  to  splash  the  water  with  as  much 
noise  as  possible — a  practice  known  to  discourage  his  approach 
when  not  over-hungry — they  contrived  to  baffle  his  pursuit, 
and  half  exhausted,  the  two  warriors  reached  and  clambered 
up  the  banks,  just  as  their  ferocious  pursuer,  close  upon 
their  heels,  had  opened  his  tremendous  jaws,  with  an  awful 
compass,  ready  to  engulf  them.  They  were  safe  though 
actually  pursued  even  up  the  banks  by  the  voracious  and  pos- 
sibly half-starved  monster.  Their  late  captive,  the  fugitive, 
was  now  safe  also.  Paddling  as  well  as  he  could  with  a  broken 
flap-oar  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  he  shaped  his  course 
to  strike  at  a  point  as  far  down  the  river  as  possible,  without 
nearing  the  pirate  craft  of  Chorley.  In  an  hour,  which 
seemed  to  him  an  age,  he  reached  the  opposite  shore,  a  few 
miles  from  the  Block  House,  not  very  much  fatigued,  and  in 
perfect  safety. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  303 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

Let  us  somewhat  retrace  our  steps,  and  go  back  to  the  time, 
when,  made  a  prisoner  in  the  camp  of  the  Yemassees,  Harri- 
son was  borne  away  to  Pocota-ligo,  a  destined  victim  for  the 
sacrifice  to  their  god  of  victory.     Having  left  him,  as  they 
thought,    secure,   the   war-party,   consisting,    as   already   de- 
scribed,   of    detachments    from    a    number    of    independent, 
though  neighbouring  nations,  proceeded  to  scatter  themselves 
over  the  country.     In  small  bodies,  they  ran  from  dwelling 
to  dwelling  with  the  utmost  rapidity — in  this  manner,  by 
simultaneous   attacks,    everywhere   preventing   anything   like 
union  or   organization   among   the   borderers.      One   or  two 
larger  parties  were  designed  for  higher  enterprises,  and  with- 
out permitting  themselves  to  be  drawn  aside  to  these  smaller 
matters,  pursued  their  object  with  Indian  inflexibility.  These 
had  for  their  object  the  surprise  of  the  towns  and  villages; 
and  so  great  had  been  their  preparations,  so  well  conducted 
their  whole  plan  of  warfare,  that  six  thousand  warriors  had 
been  thus  got  together,  and,  burning  and  slaying,  they  had 
made  their  way,  in  the  progress  of  this  insurrection,  to  the 
very  gates  of  Charleston — the  chief,  indeed  the  only  town, 
of  any  size  or  strength,  in  the  colony.     But  this  belongs  not 
to  the  narrative  immediately  before  us. 

Two  parties  of  some  force  took  the  direction  given  to  our 
story,  and  making  their  way  along  the  river  Pocota-ligo, 
diverging  for  a  few  miles  on  the  English  side,  had,  in  this 
manner,  assailed  every  dwelling  and  settlement  in  their  way 
to  the  Block  House.  One  of  these  parties  was  commanded 
by  Chorley,  who,  in  addition  to  his  seamen,  was  intrusted  with 
the  charge  of  twenty  Indians.  Equally  savage  with  the  party 
which  he  commanded,  the  path  of  this  ruffian  was  traced  in 
blood.  He  offered  no  obstacle  to  the  sanguinary  indulgence, 
on  the  part  of  the  Red  men,  of  their  habitual  fury  in  war; 
but  rather  stimulated  their  ferocity  by  the  indulgence  of  his 
own.  Unaccustomed,  however,  to  a  march  through  the  forests, 
the  progress  of  the  seamen  was  not  so  rapid  as  that  of  the 


304  THE  YEMASSEE. 

other  party  despatched  on  the  same  route;  and  many  of  the 
dwellings,  therefore,  had  been  surprised  and  sacked  some 
time  before  the  sailor  commander  could  make  his  appearance. 
The  Indian  leader  who  went  before  him  was  Ishiagaska,  one 
of  the  most  renowned  warriors  of  the  nation.  He,  indeed, 
was  one  of  those  who,  making  a  journey  to  St.  Augustine,  had 
first  been  seduced  by  the  persuasions  of  the  Spanish  governor 
of  that  station — a  station  denounced  by  the  early  Carolinians, 
from  the  perpetual  forays  upon  their  borders,  by  land  and 
sea,  issuing  from  that  quarter — as  another  Sallee  *  He  had 
sworn  fidelity  to  the  King  of  Spain  while  there,  and  from 
that  point  had  been  persuaded  to  visit  the  neighbouring  tribes 
of  the  Creek,  Apalachian,  Euchce,  and  Cherokee  Indians, 
with  the  war-belt,  and  a  proposition  of  a  common  league 
against  the  English  settlements — a  proposition  greedily  ac- 
cepted, when  coming  with  innumerable  presents  of  hatchets, 
knives,  nails,  and  gaudy  dresses,  furnished  by  the  Spaniards, 
who  well  knew  how  to  tempt  and  work  upon  the  appetites 
and  imagination  of  the  savages.  Laden  with  similar  presents, 
the  chief  had  returned  home,  and  with  successful  industry 
had  succeeded,  as  we  have  seen,  aided  by  Sanutee,  in  bring- 
ing many  of  his  people  to  a  similar  way  of  thinking  with  him- 
self. The  frequent  aggressions  of  the  whites,  the  cheats 
practised  by  some  of  their  traders,  and  other  circumstances, 
had  strongly  co-operated  to  the  desired  end;  and  with  his 
desire  satisfied,  Ishiagaska  now  headed  one  of  the  parties 
destined  to  carry  the  war  to  Port  Eoyal  Island,  sweeping  the 
track  of  the  Pocota-ligo  settlements  in  his  progress,  and  at 
length  uniting  with  the  main  party  of  Sanutee  before 
Charleston. 

He  was  not  slow  in  the  performance  of  his  mission;  but 
fortunately  for  the  English,  warned  by  the  counsels  of  Har- 
rison, the  greater  number  in  this  precinct  had  taken  timely 
shelter  in  the  Block  House,  and  left  but  their  empty  dwell- 
ings to  the  fury  of  their  invaders.  Still,  there  were  many  not 
so  fortunate;  and,  plying  their  way  from  house  to  house  in 

*  Sallee,  a  seaport  of  Morocco  known  to  every  reader  of  Rob- 
inson  Crusoe,  was  for  centuries  notorious  for  its  hostility  to  all 
Christians  and  as  a  haunt  for  sea-robbers,  who  carried  the  terror 
of  their  name  over  the  world. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  305 

their  progress,  with  all  the  stealthy  silence  of  the  cat,  the 
Indians  drove  their  tomahawks  into  many  of  the  defenceless 
cotters  who  came  imprudently  to  the  door  in  recognition  of 
the   conciliatory   demand    which   they   made    for    admission. 
Once  in  possession,  their  aim  was  indiscriminate  slaughter, 
and  one  bed  of  death  not  unfrequently  comprised  the  forms 
of  an  entire  family — husband,  wife,  and  children.    Sometimes 
they   fired    the   dwelling    into    which    caution    denied   them 
entrance,  and  as  the  inmates  fled  from  the  flames,  stood  in 
watch  and  shot  them  down  with  their  arrows.     In  this  way, 
sparing  none,  whether  young  or  old,  male  or  female,  the 
band  led   on  by   Ishiagaska   appeared   at  length  before  the 
dwelling  of  the  pastor,  Matthews.     Relying  upon  his  reputa- 
tion with  the  Indians,   and  indeed  unapprehensive  of   any 
commotion,  for  he  knew  nothing  of  their  arts  of  deception, 
we  have  seen  him  steadily  sceptical,  and  almost  rudely  indif- 
ferent to  the  advice  of  Harrison.     Regarding  the  cavalier  in 
a  light  somewhat  equivocal,  it  is  more  than  probable  that  the 
source  of  the  counsel  was  indeed  the  chief  obstacle  with  him 
in  the  way  of  its  adoption.    Be  that  as  it  may,  he  stubbornly 
held  out  in  his  determination  to  abide  where  he  was,  though 
somewhat  staggered  in  his  confidence,  when  in  their  flight 
from  their  own  more  exposed  situation  to  the  shelter  of  the 
Block  House,  under  Harrison's  counsel,  the  old  dame  Gray- 
son, with  her  eldest  son,  stopped  at  his  dwelling.    He  assisted 
the  ancient  lady  to  alight  from  her  horse,  and  helped  her 
into  the  house  for  refreshments,  while  her  son  busied  himself 
with  the  animal. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  dame?  What  brings  you  forth 
at  this  late  season?  To  my  mind,  at  your  time  of  life,  the 
bed  would  be  the  best  place,  certainly/'  was  the  address  of 
the  pastor  as  he  handed  her  some  refreshment. 

"  Oh,  sure,  parson,  and  it's  a  hard  thing  for  such  as  me  to 
be  riding  about  the  country  on  horseback  at  any  time,  much 
less  at  night — though  to  be  sure  Watty  kept  close  to  the  bridle 
of  the  creature,  which  you  see  is  a  fine  one,  and  goes  like  a 
cradle." 

"Well,  but  what  brings  you  out? — you  have  not  told  me 
that,  yet.     Something  of  great  moment,  doubtless." 

"  What,  you  haven't  heard  ?    Hasn't  the  captain  told  you  ? 


306  THE  YEMASSEE. 

Well,  that's  strange !  I  thought  you'd  be  one  of  the  first  to 
hear  it  all, — seeing  that  all  say  he  thinks  of  nobody  half  so 
much  as  of  your  young  lady  there.  Ah!  my  dear — well,  you 
needn't  blush  now,  nor  look  down,  for  he's  a  main  fine  gen- 
tleman, and  you  couldn't  find  a  better  in  a  long  day's 
journey." 

The  pastor  looked  grave,  while  the  old  dame,  whose  tongue 
always  received  a  new  impulse  when  she  met  her  neighbours, 
ran  on  in  the  most  annoying  manner.  She  stopped  at  last, 
and  though  very  readily  conjecturing  now  the  occasion  of  her 
ilight,  the  pastor  did  not  conceive  it  improper  to  renew  his 
-question. 

"  Well,  as  I  said,  it's  all  owing  to  the  captain's  advice — 
Captain  Harrison,  you  know — a  sweet  gentleman  that,  as  ever 
lived.  He  it  was — he  came  to  me  this  morning,  and  he  went 
to  all  the  neighbours,  and  looked  so  serious — you  know  he 
don't  often  look  serious —  but  he  looked  so  serious  as  he  told 
us  all  about  the  savages — the  Yemassees,  and  the  Coosaws — 
how  they  were  thinking  to  rise  and  tomahawk  us  all  in  our 
beds;  and  then  he  offered  to  lend  me  his  horse,  seeing  I  had 
no  creature,  and  it  was  so  good  of  him — for  he  knew  how 
feeble  I  was,  and  his  animal  is  so  gentle  and  easy." 

"  And  so,  with  this  wild  story,  he  has  made  you  travel  over 
the  country  by  night,  when  you  should  be  in  your  bed.  It  is 
too  bad — this  young  man  takes  quite  too  many  liberties." 

"  Why,  how  now,  parson — what's  to  do  betwixt  you  and 
the  captain  ?  "  asked  the  old  lady  in  astonishment. 

"  Well — nothing  of  any  moment,"  was  the  grave  reply.  "I 
only  think  that  he  is  amusing  himself  at  our  expense,  with  a 
levity  most  improper,  by  alarming  the  country." 

"  My ! — and  you  think  the  Indians  don't  mean  to  attack 
and  tomahawk  us  in  our  beds  ?  " 

a  That  is  my  opinion,  dame — I  see  no  reason  why  they 
should.  It  is  true,  they  have  had  some  difficulties  with  the 
traders  of  late,  but  they  have  been  civil  to  us.  One  or  more 
have  been  here  every  day  during  the  last  week,  and  they 
seemed  then  as  peaceably  disposed  as  ever.  They  have  listened 
with  much  patience  to  my  poor  exhortations,  and,  I  flatter 
myself,  with  profit  to  their  souls  and  understandings.  I  have 
no  apprehension  myself ;  though,  had  it  been  left  to  Bess  and 


THE  YEMASSEE.  307 

her  mother,  like  you,  we  should  have  been  all  riding  through 
the  woods  to  the  Block  House,  with  the  pleasure  of  riding 
back  in  the  morning." 

"  Bless  me  !  how  you  talk— well,  I  never  thought  to  hear  so 
badly  of  the  captain.  He  did  seem  so  good  a  gentleman,  and 
was  so  sweetly  spoken." 

«  Dont  mistake  me,  dame —I  have  said  nothing  unfavour- 
able to  the  character  of  the  gentleman— nothing  bad  of  him. 
I  know  little  about  him,  and  this  is  one  chief  objection  which 
I  entertain  to  a  greater  intimacy.  Another  objection  is  that 
wild  and  indecorous  levity,  of  which  he  never  seems  to  divest 
himself,  and  which  I  think  has  given  you  to-night  a  fatiguing 
and  unnecessary  ramble." 

"  Well  if  you  think  so,  I  don't  care  to  go  farther,  tor  1 
don't  expect  to  be  at  all  comfortable  in  the  Block  House,  bo, 
if  you  can  make  me  up  a  truck,  here—" 

"  Surely,  dame,— Bess,  my  dear " 

But  the  proposed  arrangement  was  interrupted  by  \\  alter 
Gravson,  who  just  then  appeared,  and  who  stoutly  protested 
against  his  mother's  stopping  short  of  the  original  place  oi 
destination.  The  elder  Grayson  was  a  great  advocate  tor 
Captain  Harrison,  who  embodied  all  his  ideal  of  what  was 
worthy  and  magnificent,  and  in  whom  his  faith  was  implicit— 
and  he  did  not  scruple  to  dilate  with  praiseworthy  eloquence 
upon  the  scandal  of  such  a  proceeding  as  that  proposed. 

"You  must  not  think  of  it,  mother.  How  will  it  look? 
Besides,  I'm  sure  the  captain  knows  what's  right,  and  wouldn  t 
say  what  was  not  certain.  It's  only  a  mile  and  a  Jut— and 
when  you  can  make  sure,  you  must  not  stop  short.  ^ 

"  But  Watty,  boy— the  parson  says  it's  only  the  captain  s 
fun,  and  we'll  only  have  to  take  a  longer  ride  in  the  morning 
if  we  go  on  further  to-night.'' 

The  son  looked  scowlingly  upon  the  pastor,  as  he  re- 
sponded:—  ,    -, 

"Well,  perhaps  the  parson  knows  better  than  any  boay 
else;  but  giye  me  the  opinion  of  those  whose  business  it  is  to 
know.  Xow,  I  belieye  in  the  captain  whenever  ngnting^s 
goino-  on.  and  I  believe  in  the  parson  whenever  preaching  s 
going  on— so,  as  it's  fighting  and  not  preaching  now,  I  don  t 
care  who  knows  it,  but  I  believe  in  the  captain,  and  I  wont 


308  THE  YEMASSEE. 

believe  in  the  parson.  If  it  was  preaching  and  not  fighting, 
the  parson  should  be  my  man." 

"  Now,  Watty,  don't  be  disrespectful.  I'm  sure  the  parson 
must  be  right,  and  so  I  think  we  had  all  better  stay  here  when 
there's  no  use  in  going." 

"  Well  now,  mother,  I'm  sure  the  parson's  wrong,  and  if 
}Tou  stay,  it  will  only  be  to  be  tomahawked  and  scalped." 

"  Why  alarm  your  mother  with  such  language,  young  man  ? 
You  are  deceived — the  Yemassees  were  never  more  peaceable 
than  they  are  at  present."  Matthews  thus  broke  in,  but  com- 
manded little  consideration  from  the  son,  and  almost  provoked 
a  harsh  retort : — 

"  I  say,  Parson  Matthews — one  man  knows  one  thing,  and 
another  man  another — but,  curse  me,  if  I  believe  in  the  man 
that  pretends  to  know  everything.  Now  fighting's  the  busi- 
ness, the  very  trade  as  I  may  say  of  Captain  Harrison,  of  the 
Foresters,  and  I  can  tell  you,  if  it  will  do  you  any  good  to 
hear,  that  he  knows  better  how  to  handle  these  red-skins  than 
any  man  in  Granville  county,  let  the  other  man  come  from 
whatever  quarter  he  may.  Now,  preaching's  your  trade, 
though  you  can't  do  much  at  it,  I  think;  yet,  as  it  is  your 
trade,  nobody  has  a  right  to  meddle — it's  your  business,  not 
mine.  But,  I  say,  parson — I  don't  think  it  looks  altogether 
respectful  to  try  and  undo,  behind  his  back,  the  trade  of 
another;  and  I  think  it  little  better  than  backbiting  for  any 
one  to  speak  disreputably  of  the  captain,  just  when  he's  gone 
into  the  very  heart  of  the  nation,  to  see  what  we  are  to  expect, 
and  all  for  our  benefit." 

Grayson  was  mightily  indignant,  and  spoke  his  mind  freely. 
The  parson  frowned  and  winced  at  the  rather  novel  and 
nowise  sparing  commentary,  but  could  say  nothing  precisely 
to  the  point  beyond  what  he  had  said  already.  Preaching, 
and  not  fighting,  was  certainly  his  profession;  and,  to  say 
the  least  of  it,  the  previous  labours  of  Harrison  among  the 
Indians,  his  success,  and  knowledge  of  their  habits  and  char- 
acter, justified  the  degree  of  confidence  in  his  judgment,  upon 
which  Grayson  so  loudly  insisted,  and  which  old  Matthews 
so  sturdily  withheld.  A  new  speaker  now  came  forward,  how- 
ever, in  the  person  of  Bess  Matthews,  who,  without  the  slight- 


THE  YEMASSEE.  309 

est  shrinking,  advancing  from  the  side  of  her  mother,  thus 
addressed  the  last  speaker : — 

"Where,  Master  Grayson,  did  you  say  Captain  Harrison 
had  gone  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Miss  Bessy,  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  But  you  may  well 
ask,  for  it's  wonderful  to  me  how  any  body  can  undervalue  a 
noble  gentleman  just  at  the  very  time  he's  doing  the  best, 
and  risking  his  own  life  for  us  all.  Who  knows  but  just  at 
this  moment  the  Yemassees  are  scalping  him  in  Pocota-ligo, 
for  it's  there  he  is  gone  to  see  what  we  may  expect." 

u  You  do  not  speak  certainly,  Master  Grayson — it  is  only 
your  conjecture  ? "  was  her  inquiry,  while  the  lip  of  the 
maiden  trembled,  and  the  colour  fled  hurriedly  from  her 
cheek. 

"  Ay,  but  I  do,  Miss  Bessy,  for  I  put  him  across  the  river 
myself,  and  it  was  then  he  lent  me  the  horse  for  mother. 
Yes,  there  he  is,  and  nobody  knows  in  what  difficulty — for 
my  part,  I'm  vexed  to  the  soul  to  hear  people  running  down 
the  man  that's  doing  for  them  what  they  can't  do  for  them- 
selves, and  all  only  for  the  good-will  of  the  thing,  and  not 
for  any  pay." 

"  Xobody  runs  down  your  friend,  Mr.  Grayson." 

"Just  the  same  thing — but  you  may  talk  as  you  think 
proper ;  and  if  you  don't  choose  to  go,  you  may  stay.  I  don't 
want  to  have  anv  of  mine  scalped,  and  so,  mother,  let  us  be 
off." 

The  old  woman  half  hesitated,  and  seemed  rather  inclined 
once  more  to  change  her  decision  and  go  with  her  son,  but 
happening  to  detect  a  smile  upon  the  lips  of  the  pastor,  she 
grew  more  obstinate  than  ever,  and  peremptorily  declared  her 
determination  to  stay  where  she  was.  Grayson  seemed  per- 
fectly bewildered,  and  knew  not  what  to  say.  What  he  did 
say  seemed  only  to  have  the  effect  of  making  her  more  dogged 
in  her  opposition  than  ever,  and  he  was  beginning  to  despair 
of  success,  when  an  influential  auxiliary  appeared  in  the 
person  of  his  younger  brother.  To  him  the  elder  instantly 
appealed,  and  a  close  observer  might  have  detected  another 
change  in  the  countenance  of  the  old  dame  at  the  approach 
of  her  younger  son.  The  features  grew  more  feminine,  and 
there  was  an  expression  of  conscious  dependanee  in  the  lines 


310  THE  YEMASSEE. 

of  her  cheek  and  the  half  parted  lips,  which  necessarily  grew 
out  of  the  greater  love  which  she  bore  to  the  one  over  the 
other  child. 

"  And  what  do  you  say,  Hughey,  my  son  ?  "  inquired  the 
old  dame,  affectionately. 

"  What  have  I  said,  mother  ?  "  was  the  brief  response. 

"  And  we  must  go  to  the  Block  House,  Hughey  ?  " 

"  Did  we  not  set  out  to  go  there  ?  " 

"  But  the  parson  thinks  there  is  no  danger,  Hughey." 

"  That  is,  doubtless,  what  he  thinks.  There  are  others  hav- 
ing quite  as  much  experience,  who  think  there  is  danger,  and 
as  you  have  come  so  far,  it  will  not  be  much  additional  trouble 
to  go  farther  and  to  a  place  of  safety.  Remember  my  father — 
he  thought  there  was  no  danger,  and  he  was  scalped  for  it." 

The  young  man  spoke  gravely  and  without  hesitation,  but 
with  a  manner  the  most  respectful.  His  words  were  con- 
clusive with  his  mother,  whose  jewel  he  unquestionably  was, 
and  his  last  reference  was  unnecessary.  Drawing  the  strings 
of  her  hat,  with  a  half  suppressed  sigh,  she  prepared  to  leave 
a  circle  somewhat  larger  and  consequently  somewhat  more 
cheerful  than  that  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed.  In 
the  meantime,  a  little  by-play  had  been  going  on  between  the 
elder  brother  and  Bess  Matthews,  whose  apprehensions,  but 
poorly  concealed,  had  been  brought  into  acute  activity  on 
hearing  of  the  precarious  adventure  which  her  lover  had 
undertaken.  This  dialogue,  however,  was  soon  broken  by  the 
departure  of  Dame  Grayson,  attended  by  her  elder  son,  the 
younger  remaining  behind,  much  against  the  desire  of  the 
anxious  mother,  though  promising  soon  to  follow.  Their 
departure  was  succeeded  by  a  few  moments  of  profound  and 
somewhat  painful  silence,  for  which  each  of  the  parties  had 
a  particular  reason.  The  pastor,  though  obstinately  resolved 
not  to  take  the  counsel  given  by  Harrison,  was  yet  not  entirely 
satisfied  with  his  determination;  and  the  probability  is,  that 
a  single  circumstance  occurring  at  that  time,  so  as  to  furnish 
a  corresponding  authority  from  another,  might  have  brought 
about  a  change  in  his  decision.  His  wife  was,  comparatively 
speaking,  a  taciturn  body,  particularly  when  the  widow  Gray- 
son was  present.  She  was,  just  now,  a  little  bewildered  also, 
between  the  extremes  of  counsel,— Harrison's  on  the  one  hand 


THE  YEMASSEE.  311 

and  the  Parson's  on  the  other.  She  accordingly  looked  her 
bewilderment  only,  and  said  nothing,  while  Bess  Matthews, 
filled  only  with  apprehensions  of  her  lover,  in  supposed  danger 
from  the  Yemassees,  was  as  little  capable  of  thought  or  speech. 
She  could  contribute  nothing  to  the  discussion. 

Young  Grayson,  too,  had  his  peculiar  cause  of  disquiet, 
and,  with  a  warm  passion,  active  yet  denied,  m  his  heart — 
and  a  fierce  mood  for  ambition,  kept  within  those  limits 
which  prescription  and  social  artifice  so  frequently  wind, 
as  with  the  coil  of  the  constrictor,  around  the  lofty  mind  and 
the  upsoaring  spirit,  keeping  it  down  to  earth,  and  chaining 
it  in  a  bondage  as  degrading  as  it  is  unnatural — he  felt  in  no 
humour  to  break  through  the  restraints  which  fettered  the 
goodly  company  about  him.  Still,  the  effort  seemed  properly 
demanded  of  him,  and,  referring  to  the  common  movement, 
he  commenced  the  conversation  by  regretting,  with  a  common- 
place phraseology,  the  prospect  held  forth,  so  injurious  to 
the  settlement,  by  any  approaching  tumult  among  the  Indians. 
The  old  pastor  fortified  his  decision  not  to  remove,  by  repeat- 
ing his  old  confidence  in  their  quiet : — 

"  The  Indians,"  said  he,  "  have  been  and  are  quiet  enough. 
We  have  no  reason  to  anticipate  assault  now.  It  is  true,  they 
have  the  feelings  of  men,  and  as  they  have  been  injured  by 
some  of  our  traders,  and  perhaps  by  some  of  our  borderers, 
they  may  have  cause  of  complaint,  and  a  few  of  them  may 
even  be  desirous  of  revenge.  This  is  but  natural.  But,  if 
this  were  the  general  feeling,  we  should  have  seen  its  proofs 
before  now.  They  would  seek  it  in  individual  enterprises,  and 
would  strike  and  slay  those  who  wronged  them.  Generally 
speaking,  they  have  nothing  to  complain  of;  for,  since  that 
excellent  man,  Charles  Craven,  has  been  governor,  he  has 
been  their  friend,  even  in  spite  of  the  Assembly,  who,  to  say 
truth,  have  been  nowise  sparing  of  injustice  wherever  the 
savage  has  been  concerned.  Again,  I  say,  I  see  not  why  we 
should  apprehend  danger  from  the  Yemassees  at  this 
moment." 

As  if  himself  satisfied  with  the  force  of  what  he  had  said, 
the  pastor  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and  closed  his 
eyes  and  crossed  his  hands  in  complacent  style,  his  look  wear- 
ing an  appearance  of  most  satisfactory  conclusion — solemnly 


312  THE  YEMASSEE. 

assured,  and  authoritatively  content.  Our  parson  had,  we 
fear,  quite  as  much  pride  in  his  head,  as  devotion  in  his  heart. 
Grayson  replied  briefly  : — 

"Yet  there  are  some  evidences  which  should  not  be  disre- 
garded. Sanutee,  notoriously  friendly  as  he  has  been  to  us, 
no  longer  visits  us — he  keeps  carefully  away,  and  when  seen, 
his  manner  is  restrained,  and  his  language  anything  but 
cordial.  Ishiagaska,  too,  has  been  to  St.  Augustine,  brought 
home  large  presents  for  himself  and  other  of  the  chiefs,  and 
has  paid  a  visit  to  the  Creeks,  the  Apalachian,  and  other 
tribes— besides  bringing  home  with  him  Chigilli,  the  cele- 
brated Creek  war-chief,  who  has. been  among  the  Yemassees 
ever  since.  Now,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  there  is  much  that 
calls  for  attention  in  the  simple  intercourse  of  foes  so  invete- 
rate hitherto  as  the  Spaniards  and  Yemassees.  Greater  foes 
have  not  often  been  known,  and  this  new  friendship  is  there- 
fore the  more  remarkable;  conclusive,  indeed,  when  we  con- 
sider the  coldness  of  the  Yemassees  towards  us  just  as  they 
have  contracted  this  new  acquaintance;  the  fury  with  which 
they  revolutionized  the  nation,  upon  the  late  treaty  for  their 
lands,  and  the  great  difficulty  which  Sanutee  had  in  restrain- 
ing them  from  putting  our  commissioners  to  death." 

"Ah,  that  was  a  bad  business,  but  the  fault  was  on  our 
side.  Our  Assembly  would  inveigle  with  the  young  chiefs, 
and  bribe  them  against  the  will  of  the  old,  though  Governor 
Craven  told  them  what  they  might  expect,  and  warned  them 
against  the  measure.  I  have  seen  his  fine  letter  to  the 
Assembly  on  that  very  point." 

"We  differ,  Mr.  Matthews,  about  the  propriety  of  the 
measure,  for  it  is  utterly  impossible  that  the  whites  and 
Indians  should  ever  live  together  and  agree.  The  nature  of 
things  is  against  it,  and  the  very  difference  between  the  two, 
that  of  colour,  perceptible  to  our  most  ready  sentinel,  the 
sight,  must  always  constitute  them  an  inferior  caste  in  our 
minds.  Apart  from  this,  an  obvious  superiority  in  arts  and 
education  must  soon  force  upon  them  the  consciousness  of 
their  inferiority.  When  this  relationship  is  considered  in 
connexion  with  the  uncertainty  of  their  resources  and  means 
of  life,  it  will  be  seen  that,  after  a  while,  they  must  not  only 
be  inferior,  but  they  must  become  dependant.     When  this 


THE  YEMASSEE.  313 

happens,  and  it  will  happen  with,  the  diminution  of  their 
hunting  lands,  circumscribed,  daily,  more  and  more,  as  they 
are  by  our  approaches,  they  must  become  degraded,  and  sink 
into  slavery  and  destitution.  A  few  of  them  have  become 
so  now;  they  are  degraded  by  brutal  habits, — and  the  old 
chiefs  have  opened  their  eyes  to  the  danger  among  their  young 
men,  from  the  seductive  poisons  introduced  among  them  by 
our  traders.  They  begin  too,  to  become  straitened  in  their 
hunting  grounds.  They  lose  by  our  contact  in  every  way ;  and 
to  my  mind,  the  best  thing  we  can  do  for  them  is  to  send 
them  as  far  as  possible  from  communion  with  our  people  ? " 

"What!  and  deny  them  all  the  benefits  of  our  blessed 
religion  ?  " 

u  By  no  means,  sir.  The  old  apostles  would  have  gone 
along  with,  or  after  them.  Unless  the  vocation  of  the  preacher 
be  very  much  changed  in  times  present  from  times  past,  they 
will  not,  therefore,  be  denied  any  of  the  benefits  of  religious 
education." 

The  answer  somewhat  changed  the  direction  of  our  pastor's 
discourse,  who,  though  a  very  well  meaning,  was  yet  a  very 
sleek  and  highly  providential  person ;  and,  while  his  wits  fur- 
nished no  ready  answer  to  this  suggestion,  he  was  yet  not 
prepared,  himself,  for  an  utter  remove  from  all  contact  with 
civilization,  and  the  good  things  known  to  the  economy  of  a 
Christian  kitchen.  As  he  said  nothing  in  reply,  Grayson 
proceeded  thus : — 

"  There  is  yet  another  circumstance  upon  which  I  have 
made  no  remark,  yet  which  seems  important  at  this  moment 
of  doubt,  and  possibly  of  danger.  This  guarda  costa,  lying 
in  the  river  for  so  many  days,  without  any  intercourse  with 
our  people,  and  seemingly  with  no  object,  is  at  least  singular. 
She  is  evidently  Spanish ;  and  the  report  is,  that  on  her  way, 
she  was  seen  to  put  into  every  inlet  along  the  coast — every 
bay  and  creek  along  the  rivers — and  here  we  find  her,  not 
coming  to  the  shore,  but  moored  in  the  stream,  ready  to  cut 
cable  and  run  at  a  moment.    What  can  be  her  object  ?  " 

"  You  have  been  at  some  pains,  Master  Hugh  Grayson,  I 
see,  to  get  evidence ;  but  so  far  as  this  vessel  or  guarda  costa 
is  concerned,  I  think  I  may  venture  to  say  she  is  harmless. 
She  is  not  a  Spanish,  but  an  English  vessel.    As  to  her  put- 


314  THE  YEMASSEE. 

ting  into  this  creek  or  that,  I  can  say  nothing — she  may  have 
done  so,  and  it  is  very  probable,  for  she  comes  especially  to 
get  furs  and  skins  from  the  Indians.  I  know  her  captain — 
at  least  I  knew  him  when  a  boy — a  wild  youth  from  my  own 
county — who  took  to  the  sea  for  the  mere  love  of  roving.  He 
was  wild,  and  perhaps  a  little  vicious,  when  young,  and  may 
be  so  now;  but  I  have  his  own  word  that  his  object  is  trade 
with  the  Indians  for  furs  and  skins,  as  I  have  told  you." 

"  And  why  not  with  the  whites  for  furs  and  skins  ?  No, 
sir !  He  needs  no  furs,  and  of  this  I  have  evidence  enough. 
I  had  a  fine  parcel,  which  I  preferred  rather  to  sell  on  the 
spot  than  send  to  Charleston,  but  he  refused  to  buy  from 
me  on  the  most  idle  pretence.  This,  more  than  any  thing 
else,  makes  me  doubt ;  and,  in  his  refusal,  I  feel  assured  there 
is  more  than  we  know  of.  Like  yourself,  I  have  been  slow 
to  give  ear  to  these  apprehensions,  yet  they  have  forced  them- 
selves upon  me;  and  precaution  is  surely  better,  even  though 
at  some  trouble,  when  safety  is  the  object.  My  brother,  from 
whom  I  have  several  facts  of  this  kind  within  the  last  hour, 
is  himself  acquainted  with  much  in  the  conduct  of  the  Indians, 
calculated  to  create  suspicion,  and  from  Captain  Harrison 
he  gets  the  rest." 

"  Ay,  Harrison  again — no  evidence  is  good  without  him. 
He  is  everywhere,  and  with  him  a  good  jest  is  authority 
enough  at  any  time." 

"  I  love  him  not,  sir,  any  more  than  yourself,"  said  Gray- 
son,  gloomily ;  "  but  there  is  reason  in  what  he  tells  us  now." 

"  Father !  "  said  Bess,  coming  forward,  and  putting  her 
hand  tenderly  on  the  old  man's  shoulder — "  hear  to  Master 
Grayson — he  speaks  for  the  best.  Let  us  go  to  the  Block, 
only  for  the  night,  or  at  most  two  or  three  nights — for  Gabriel 
said  the  danger  would  be  soon  over." 

"  Go  to,  girl,  and  be  not  foolish.  Eemember,  too,  to  speak 
of  gentlemen  by  their  names  in  full,  with  a  master  before 
them,  or  such  title  as  the  law  or  usage  gives  them.    Go !  " 

The  manner  in  which  Harrison  had  been  referred  to  by  the 
daughter,  offended  Grayson  not  less  than  it  did  her  father, 
and,  though  now  well  satisfied  of  the  position  in  which  the 
parties  stood,  he  could  not  prevent  the  muscles  of  his  brow 


THE  YEMASSEE.  315 

contracting  sternly,  and  his  eyes  bending  down  sullenly  upon 
her.    The  old  lady  now  put  in : — 

"  Really,  John,  you  are  too  obstinate.  Here  are  all  against 
you,  and  there  is  so  little  trouble,  and  there  may  be  so  much 
risk.     You  may  repent  when  it  is  too  late." 

"  You  will  have  something  then  to  scold  about,  dame,  and 
therefore  should  not  complain.  But  all  this  is  exceedingly 
childish,  and  you  will  do  me  the  favour,  Master  Grayson,  to 
discourse  of  other  things,  since,  as  I  see  not  any  necessity  to 
fly  from  those  who  have  been  friends  always,  I  shall,  for  this 
good  night  at  least,  remain  just  where  I  am.  For  you,  wife, 
and  you,  Bess,  if  you  will  leave  me,  you  are  both  at  liberty 
to  go." 

"  Leave  you,  father,"  exclaimed  Bess,  sinking  on  one  knee 
by  the  old  man's  side — "  Oh !  do  not  speak  unkindly.  I  will 
stay,  and  if  there  be  danger,  will  freely  share  it  with  you,  in 
whatever  form  it  may  chance  to  come." 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,  Bess — a  little  timid,  perhaps,  but 
time  will  cure  you  of  that,"  and  patting  her  on  the  head, 
the  old  man  rose,  and  took  his  way  from  the  house  into  his 
cottage  enclosure.  Some  household  duties  at  the  same  moment 
demanding  the  consideration  of  the  old  lady  in  another  room, 
she  left  the  young  people  alone  together. 


316  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

The  departure  of  the  pastor  and  his  wife  was  productive 
of  some  little  awkwardness  in  those  who  remained.  For  a  few 
moments,  a  deathlike  stillness  succeeded.  Well  aware  that 
her  affections  for  Harrison  were  known  to  her  present  com- 
panion, a  feeling  not  altogether  unpleasant,  of  maiden  bash- 
fulness,  led  the  eyes  of  Bess  to  the  floor,  and  silenced  her 
speech.  A  harsher  mood,  for  a  time,  produced  a  like  situa- 
tion on  the  part  of  Grayson;  but  it  lasted  not  long.  With  a 
sullen  sort  of  resolution,  gathering  into  some  of  that  energetic 
passion,  as  he  proceeded,  which  so  much  marked  his  character, 
he  broke  the  silence  at  length  with  a  word — a  single  word — 
uttered  desperately,  as  it  were,  and  with  a  half  choking 
enunciation : — 

"  Miss  Matthews — " 

She  looked  up  at  the  sound,  and  as  she  beheld  the  dark 
expression  of  his  eye,  the  concentrated  glance,  the  compressed 
lip — as  if  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  utter  that  which  he 
felt  at  the  same  time  must  be  uttered — she  half  started,  and 
the  "  Sir  "■  with  which  she  acknowledged  his  address  was 
articulated  timorously. 

"Be  not  alarmed,  Miss  Matthews;  be  not  alarmed.  I  see 
what  I  would  not  see.  I  see  that  I  am  an  object  rather  of 
fear,  rather  of  dislike — detestation  it  may  be — than  of  any 
other  of  those  sweeter  feelings  I  Vould  freely  give  my  life 
to  inspire  in  your  heart." 

"  You  wrong  me,  Master  Grayson,  indeed  you  do.  I  have 
no  such  feelings  for  you,  as  those  you  speak  of.  I  do  not  dis- 
like or  detest  you,  and  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  have  you 
think  so.     Do  not  think  so,  I  beg  you/' 

"  But  you  fear  me — you  fear  me,  Miss  Matthews,  and  the 
feeling  is  much  the  same.  Yet  why  should  you  fear  me — 
what  have  I  done,  what  said  ?  " 

'  You  startle  me,  Master  Grayson — not  that  I  fear  you, 
for  I  have  no  cause  to  fear  when  I  have  no  desire  to  harm. 
But,  in  truth,  sir — when  you  look  so  wildly  and  speak  so 


THE  YEMASSEE.  317 

strangely,  I  feel  unhappy  and  apprehensive;  and  yet — I  do 
not  fear  you." 

He  looked  upon  her  as  she  spoke  with  something  of  a  smile 
— a  derisive  smile. 

"Yet,  if  you  knew  all,  Miss  Matthews — if  you  had  seen 
and  heard  all — ay,  even  of  the  occurrences  of  the  last  few 
hours,  you  would  both  fear  and  hate  me." 

"  I  do  not  fear  to  hear,  Master  Grayson,  and  therefore  I  beg 
that  3rou  will  speak  out.  You  cannot,  surely,  design  to  terrify 
me?  Let  me  but  think  so,  sir,  though  for  a  moment  only, 
and  you  will  as  certainly  fail.*' 

"  You  are  strong,  but  not  strong  enough  to  hear,  without 
terror,  the  story  I  could  tell  you.  I  said  you  feared,  and  per- 
haps hated  me — more — perhaps  you  despise  me.  I  despise 
myself,  sincerely,  deeply,  for  some  of  my  doings,  of  which 
you — my  mad  passion  for  you,  rather — has  been  the  cause." 

"  Speak  no  more  of  this,  Master  Grayson — freely  did  I 
forgive  you  that  error — I  would  also  forget  it,  sir." 

"  That  forgiveness  was  of  no  avail — my  heart  has  grown 
more  black,  more  malignant  than  ever;  and  no  need  for 
wonder !  Let  your  thoughts  go  back  and  examine,  along  with 
mine,  its  history;  for,  though,  in  this  search,  I  feel  the 
accursed  probe  irritating  anew  at  every  touch  the  yet  bleeding 
wound,  I  am  not  unwilling  that  my  own  hand  should  direct 
it.  Hear  me.  We  were  children  together,  Bess  Matthews. — 
In  our  infancy,  in  another  land,  we  played  happily  together. 
AYhen  we  came  to  this,  unconscious  almost  of  our  remove,  for 
at  first  we  were  not  separated, — when  the  land  was  new,  and 
our  fathers  felled  the  old  trees  and  made  a  cabin  in  common 
for  them  both,  for  three  happy  years  we  played  together  under 
the  same  shelter.  Day  by  day  found  us  inseparate,  and,  at 
that  time,  mutual  dependants.  Each  day  gave  us  a  new  con- 
sciousness, and  every  new  consciousness  taught  us  a  most 
unselfish  division  of  our  gains.  I  feel  that  such  was  your 
spirit,  Bess  Matthews — do  me  the  justice  to  say,  you  believe 
such  was  my  spirit  also." 

"  It  was — I  believe  it,  Hugh — Master  Grayson,  I  mean." 
"  Oh,  be  not  so  frigid — say  Hugh — Hugh,  as  of  old  you 
used  to  say  it,"  exclaimed  the  youth  passionately,  as  she  made 
the  correction. 


318  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  Such  was  your  spirit  then,  Hugh,  I  willingly  say  it.  You 
were  a  most  unselfish  playmate.  I  have  always  done  you 
justice  in  my  thought.    I  am  glad  still  to  do  so." 

"  Then  our  school-mate  life — that  came — three  months  to 
me  in  the  year,  with  old  Squire  Downie,  while  you  had  all  the 
year.  I  envied  you  that,  Bess,  though  I  joyed  still  in  your 
advantages.  What  was  my  solace  the  rest  of  the  year,  when, 
without  a  feeling  for  my  labour,  I  ran  the  furrows,  and  fol- 
lowing my  father's  footsteps,  dropped  the  grain  into  them? 
What  was  my  solace  then?  Let  me  answer,  as  perhaps  you 
know  not.  The  thought  of  the  night,  when,  unwearied  by  all 
exertion,  I  should  fly  over  to  your  cottage,  and  chat  with  you 
the  few  hours  between  nightfall  and  bedtime.  I  loved  you 
then. — That  was  love,  though  neither  of  us  knew  it.  It  was 
not  the  search  after  the  playmate,  but  after  the  playmate's 
heart,  that  carried  me  there ;  for  my  brother,  with  whom  you 
played  not  less  than  with  myself, — he  sank  wearied  to  his 
bed,  though  older  and  stronger  than  myself.  I  was  unf atigued, 
for  I  loved;  and  thus  it  is  that  the  body,  taking  its  temper 
from  the  affections,  is  strong  or  weak,  bold  or  timid,  as  they 
warm  into  emotion,  or  freeze  with  indifference.  But  day 
after  day,  and  night  after  night,  I  came;  unrelaxing,  un- 
changing, to  watch  your  glance,  to  see  the  play  of  your  lips — 
to  be  the  adoring  boy,  afraid  sometimes  even  to  breathe,  cer- 
tainly to  speak,  through  fear  of  breaking  the  spell,  or  possibly 
of  offending  the  divinity  to  whom  I  owed  so  much,  and  sent 
up  feelings  in  prayer  so  devoutly." 

"  Speak  not  thus  extravagantly,  Master  Grayson,  or  I  must 
leave  you." 

"  Hugh — call  me  Hugh,  will  you  not  ?  It  bears  be  back — 
back  to  the  boyhood  I  would  I  had  never  risen  from." 

"  Hugh,  then,  I  will  call  you,  and  with  a  true  pleasure.  Ay, 
more,  Hugh,  I  will  be  to  you  again  the  sister  you  found  me 
then ;  but  you  must  not  run  on  so  idly." 

"  Idly,  indeed,  Bess  Matthews,  when  for  a  dearer  and  a 
sweeter  name  I  must  accept  that  of  sister.  But  let  me  speak 
ere  I  madden.  Time  came  with  all  his  changes.  The  neigh- 
bourhood thickened,  we  were  no  longer  few  in  number,  and 
consequently  no  longer  dependant  upon  one  another.     The 


THE  YEMASSEB.  319 

worst  change  followed  then,  Bess  Matthews — the  change  in 

you." 

"  How,  Hugh — you  saw  no  change  in  me.     I  have  surely 

been  the  same  always." 

"  $o,  no — many  changes  I  saw  in  you.    Every  hour  had  its 
change,'  and  most  of  them  were  improving  changes.     With 
every  change  you  grew  more  beautiful;  and  the  auburn  of 
your  hair  in  changing  to  a  deep  and  glossy  brown,  and  the 
soft  pale  of  your  girlish  check  in  putting  on  a  leaf  of  the 
most  delicate  rose,  and  the  bright  glance  of  your  eye  in  assum- 
ing a  soft  and  qualifying  moisture  in  its  expression, — were 
all  so  many  exquisite  "changes  of  lovely  to  lovelier,  and  none 
of  them  unnoticed  by  me.     My  eyes  were  sentinels  that  slept 
not  when  watching  yours.     I  saw  every  change,  however  un- 
important— however  unseen  by  others!     Not  a  glance — not 
a  feature — not  a  tone — not  an  expression  did  I  leave  un- 
studied; and  every  portraiture,  indelibly  fixed  upon  my  mem- 
ory, underwent  comparison  in  my  lingering  reflection  before 
slumbering  at  night.     Need  I  tell  you,  that  watching  your 
person  thus,   your  mind   underwent    a  not  less   scrupulous 
examination,     I  weighed  every  sentence  of  your  lips— every 
thought  of  your  sense — every  feeling  of  your  heart.     I  could 
detect  the  unuttered  emotion  in  your  eye;  and  the  quiver  of 
your  lip,  light  as  that  of  the  rose  when  the  earliest  droppings 
of  the  night  dew  steal  into  its  bosom,  was  perceptible  to  that 
keen  glance  of  love  which  I  kept  for  ever  upon  you.     How 
gradual  then  was  the  change  which  I  noted  day  by  day.    Hf 
came  at  length,  and  with  a  prescience  which  forms  no  small 
portion  of  the  spirit  of  a  true  affection,  I  cursed  him  when  I 
saw  him.    You  saw  him  too,  and  then  the  change  grew  rapid— 
dreadfully  rapid,  to  my  eyes.     He  won  you,  as  you  had  won 
me.  There  was  an  instinct  in  it.  You  no  longer  cared  whether 
I  came  to  you  or  not — " 

"Xay,  Hugh— there  you  are  wrong  again — I  was  always 
glad — alwavs  most  happy  to  see  you." 

"You  think  so,  Bess;— I  am  willing  to  believe  you  think 
so_but  it  is  vou  who  are  wrong.  I  know  that  you  cared  not 
whether  I  came  or  not,  for  on  the  subject  your  thought  never 
rested  for  a  moment,  or  but  for  a  moment.  I  soon  discovered 
that  you  were  also  important  in  his  sight,  and  I  hated  him 


320  THE  YEMASSEE. 

the  more  for  the  discovery — I  hated  him  the  more  for  loving 
you.  Till  this  day,  however,  I  had  not  imagined  the  extent 
to  which  you  had  both  gone — I  had  not  feared,  I  had  not  felt 
all  my  desolation.  I  had  only  dreamed  of  and  dreaded  it. 
But  when,  in  a  paroxysm  of  madness,  I  looked  upon  you  and 
saw — saw  your  mutual  lips — " 

"  No  more,  Master  Grayson," — she  interposed  with  dignity. 

"  I  will  not — forgive  me ;  but  you  know  how  it  maddened 
me,  and  how  I  erred,  and  how  you  rebuked  me.  How  dread- 
ful was  that  rebuke ! — but  it  did  not  restrain  the  error — it 
impelled  me  to  a  new  one — " 

"  What  new  one,  Hugh  ?  " 

"  Hear  me !  This  man  Harrison — that  I  should  speak  his 
name ! — that  I  should  speak  it  praisefully  too ! — he  came  to 
our  cottage — showed  our  danger  from  the  Yemassees  to  mv 
mother,  and  would  have  persuaded  her  to  fly  this  morning — 
but  I  interfered  and  prevented  the  removal.  He  saw  my 
brother,  however,  and  as  Walter  is  almost  his  worshipper,  he 
was  more  successful  with  him.  Leaving  you  in  a  mood  little 
short  of  madness  this  afternoon,  I  hurried  home,  but  there  I. 
could  not  rest,  and  vexed  with  a  thousand  dreadful  thoughts, 
I  wandered  from  the  house  away  into  the  woods.  After  a 
while  came  the  tread  of  a  horse  rapidly  driving  up  the  river- 
trace,  and  near  the  spot  where  I  wandered.  The  rider  was 
Harrison.  He  alighted  at  a  little  distance  from  me,  tied  his 
horse  to  a  shrub,  and  threw  himself  just  before  me  upon  the 
grass.  A  small  tree  stood  between  us,  and  my  approach  was 
unnoticed.  I  heard  him  murmuring,  and  with  the  same  base 
spirit  which  prompted  me  to  look  down  on  your  meeting 
to-day,  I  listened  to  his  language.  His  words  were  words  of 
tenderness  and  love — of  triumphant  love,  and  associated  with 
your  name — he  spoke  of  you — God  curse  him !  as  his  own." 

The  word  "  Gabriel "  fell  unconsciously  from  the  lips  of 
the  maiden  as  she  heard  this  part  of  the  narrative.  For  a 
moment  Grayson  paused,  and  his  brow  grew  black,  while  his 
teeth  were  compressed  closely;  but  as  she  looked  up,  as  if 
impatient  for  the  rest  of  his  narrative,  he  went  on: — 

"  Then  I  maddened,  Then  I  grew  fiendish.  I  know  not 
whence  the  impulse,  but  it  must  have  been  from  hell.  I 
sprang  upon  him,  and  with  the  energies  of  a  tiger  and  with 


THE  YEMASSEE.  321 

more  than  his  ferocity,  I  pinioned  him  to  the  ground,  my 
knee  upon  his  breast — one  hand  upon  his  throat,  and  with  my 
knife  in  the  other — " 

"Stay! — God — man — say  that  you  slew  him  not!  You 
struck  not — oh  !  you  kept  back  your  hand — he  lives  !  "  Con- 
vulsed with  terror,  she  clasped  the  arm  of  the  speaker,  while 
her  face  grew  haggard  with  affright,  and  her  eyes  seemed 
starting  from  their  sockets. 

"  I  slew  him  not !  "  he  replied  solemnly. 

"  God  bless  you — God  bless  you ! "  was  all  that  she  could 
utter,  as  she  sank  back  fainting  upon  the  floor  of  the  apart- 
ment. 


322  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

Passionate  and  thoughtless,  Hugh  Grayson  had  not  calcu- 
lated the  consequences  of  his  imprudent  and  exciting  narra- 
tive upon  a  mind  so  sensitive.  He  was  now  aware  of  his  error, 
and  his  alarm  at  her  situation  was  extreme.  He  lifted  her 
from  the  floor,  and  supported  her  to  a  seat,  endeavouring,  as 
well  as  he  could,  with 'due  care  and  anxiety,  to  restore  her  to 
consciousness.  While  thus  employed  the  pastor  re-entered 
the  apartment,  and  his  surprise  may  be  imagined. 

"  Ha  !■  what  is  the  matter  with  my  child  ?  what  has  hap- 
pened ?  what  alarmed  her  ?  Speak,  Master  Grayson !  Tell 
me  what  has  caused  all  this  ! — My  child ! — Bessy,  my  child ! 
Look  up !  open  your  eyes.  Tell  me !  say !  see,  it  is  thy  old 
father  that  has  thee  now.  Thou  art  safe,  my  child.  Safe 
with  thy  father.  There  is  no  danger  now.  Look  up,  look  up, 
my  child,  and  speak  to  me !  " 

Without  answering,  Grayson  resigned  her  to  the  hands  oi 
the  pastor,  and  with  folded  arms  and  a  face  full  of  gloomy 
expression,  stood  gazing  upon  the  scene  in  silence.  The 
father  supported  her  tenderly,  and  with  a  show  of  fervency 
not  common  to  a  habit  which,  from  constant  exercise,,  and 
the  pruderies  of  a  form  of  worship  rather  too  much  given 
to  externals,  had,  in  progress  of  time,  usurped  dominion  o^er 
a  temper  originally  rather  passionate  than  phlegmatic.  Ex- 
claiming all  the  while  to  the  unconscious  girl — and  now  and 
then  addressing  Grayson  in  a  series  of  broken  sentences,  the 
old  man  proved  the  possession  of  a  degree  of  regard  for  his 
child  which  might  have  appeared  doubtful  before.  Grayson, 
meanwhile,  stood  by, — an  awed  and  silent  spectator, — bitterly 
reproaching  himself  for  his  imprudence  in  making  such  a 
communication,  and  striving,  in  his  own  mind,  to  forge  or 
force  an  apology  at  least  to  himself,  for  the  heedlessness 
which  had  marked  his  conduct. 

"  What,  Master  Grayson,  has  been  the  cause  of  this  ?  Speak 
out,  sir — my  daughter  is  my  heart,  and  you  have  trifled  with 
her.      Beware,  sir. — I  am  an  old  man,  and  a  professor  of  a 


THE  YEMASSEE.  323 

faith  whose  essence  is  peace;  but  I  am  still  a  man,  sir — with 
The  feelings  and  the  passions  of  a  man;  and  sooner  than  my 
child  should  suffer  wrong,  slight  as  a  word,  I  will  even  throw 
aside  that  faith  and  become  a  man  of  blood.  Speak,  sir, 
what  has  made  all  this  ?  " 

The  youth  grew  firmer  under  such  an  exhortation,  for  his 
was  the  nature  to  be  won  rather  than  commanded.  He  looked 
firmly  into  the  face  of  the  speaker,  and  his  brow  gathered  to 
a  frown.  The  old  man  saw  it,  and  saw  in  the  confidence  his 
glance  expressed  that  however  he  might  have  erred,  he  had 
at  least  intended  no  disrespect.  As  this  conviction  came  to 
his  mind,  he  immediately  addressed  his  companion  in  a  dif- 
ferent character,  while  returning  consciousness  in  his  daugh- 
ter's eyes  warned  him  also  to  moderation. 

"  I  have  been  harsh,  Master  Grayson — harsh,  indeed,  my 
son;  but  my  daughter  is  dear  to  me  as  the  fresh  blood  around 
my  heart,  and  suffering  with  her  is  soreness  and  more  than 
suffering  to  me.  Forbear  to  say,  at  this  time — I  see  that  she 
has  misunderstood  you,  or  her  sickness  may  have  some  other 
cause.     Look — bring  me  some  water,  m}^  son." 

"  My  son !  "  muttered  Grayson  to  himself  as  he  proceeded 
to  the  sideboard  where  stood  the  pitcher.  Pouring  some  of 
its  contents  into  a  glass,  he  approached  the  maiden,  whose 
increasing  sighs  indicated  increasing  consciousness.  The  old 
man  was  about  to  take  the  glass  from  his  hands  when  her 
unclosing  eye  rested  upon  him.  With  a  shriek  she  darted 
to  her  feet,  and  lifting  her  hand  as  if  to  prevent  his  approach, 
and  averting  her  eye  as  if  to  shut  his  presence  from  her  sight, 
she  exclaimed — 

"  Away !  thou  cruel  murderer — come  not  nigh  me — look 
not  on  me — touch  me  not  with  thy  hands  of  blood.  Touch 
me  not — away !  " 

u  God  of  Heaven !  "  exclaimed  Grayson,  in  like  horror, — 
"  what  indeed  have  I  done  ?  Forgive  me,  Miss  Matthews, 
forgive  me — I  am  no  murderer.  He  lives — I  struck  him  not. 
Forgive  me !  " 

"  I  have  no  forgiveness — none.  Thou  hast  lifted  thy  hand 
against  God's  image — thou  hast  sought  to  slay  a  noble  gentle- 
man to  whom  thou  art  as  nothing.  Away — let  me  not  look 
upon  thee ! " 


324  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  Be  calm,  Bess — my  daughter.  Thou  dost  mistake.  This 
is  no  murderer — this  is  our  young  friend,  thy  old  playmate, 
Hugh  Grayson." 

"  Ay !  he  came  with  that  old  story,  of  how  we  played 
together,  and  spoke  of  his  love  and  all — and  then  showed  me 
a  knife,  and  lifted  his  bloody  hands  to  my  face,  and — Oh! 
it  was  too  horrible."  And  she  shivered  at  the  association 
of  terrible  objects  which  her  imagination  continued  to 
conjure  up. 

"  Thou  has  wrought  upon  her  over  much,  Master  Grayson, 
and  though  I  think  with  no  ill  intent,  yet  it  would  seem  with 
but  small  judgment." 

"  True,  sir — and  give  me,  I  pray  you,  but  a  few  moments 
with  your  daughter — a  few  moments  alone,  that  I  may  seek 
to  undo  this  cruel  thought  which  she  now  appears  to  hold  me 
in.  But  a  few  moments — believe  me,  I  shall  say  nothing 
unkind  or  offensive." 

"  Leave  me  not,  father — go  not  out — rather  let  him  go 
where  I  may  not  see  him,  for  he  has  been  a  base  spy,  and 
would  have  been  a  foul  murderer,  but  that  the  good  spirit  held 
back  his  hand." 

"  Thou  sayest  rightly,  Bess  Matthews — I  have  been  base 
and  foul — but  thou  sayest  ungently  and  against  thy  better 
nature,  for  I  have  scorned  myself  that  I  was  so.  Give  me 
leave — let  thy  father  go — turn  thy  head — close  thine  eyes. 
I  ask  thee  not  to  look  upon  me,  but  hear  me,  and  the  quest 
which  I  claim  rather  from  thy  goodness  than  from  any  merit- 
ings  of  mine  own." 

There  was  a  gloomy  despondence  in  his  looks,  and  a  tone 
of  wretched  self-abandonment  in  his  voice,  that  went  to  the 
heart  of  the  maiden,  as,  while  he  spoke,  she  turned,  and  her 
eyes  were  bent  upon  him.  Looking  steadfastly  upon  his  face 
for  a  few  moments  after  he  had  ceased  speaking,  she  ap- 
peared slowly  to  deliberate;  then,  as  if  satisfied,  she  turned 
to  her  father,  and  with  a  motion  of  her  hand  signified  her 
consent.  The  old  man  retired,  and  Grayson  would  have  led 
her  to  a  seat ;  but  rejecting  his  proffered  aid  with  much  firm- 
ness, she  drew  a  chair,  and  motioning  him  also  to  one  at  a 
little  distance,  she  prepared  to  hear  him. 

"  I  needed  not  this,  Miss  Matthews,  to  feel  how  deeply  I 


THE  YEMASSEE.  325 

had   erred — how   dreadfully   I   have   been  punished.     When 
you  know  that  I  have  had  but  one  stake  in  life — that  I  have 
lived  but  for  one  object — and  have  lived  in  vain  and  am  now 
denied, — you  will  not  need  to  be  told  how  completely  unneces- 
sary to  my  torture  and  trial  is  the  suspicion  of  your  heart, 
and  the  coldness  of  your  look  and  manner.     I  came  to-night 
and  sought  this  interview,  hopeless  of  anything  beside,   at 
least  believing  myself  not  altogether  unworthy  of  your  esteem. 
To  prove  this  more  certainly  to  your  mind,  I  laid  bare  my 
own.    I  suppressed  nothing — you  saw  my  uncovered  soul,  and 
without  concealment  I  resolutely  pointed  out  to  you  all  its 
blots — all  its  deformities.    I  spoke  of  my  love  for  you,  of  its 
extent,  not  that  I  might  claim  any  from  you  in  return — for  I 
saw  that  such  hope  was  idle;  and,  indeed,  knowing  what  I 
do,  and  how  completely  your  heart  is  in  the  possession  of 
another,  were  it  offered  to  me  at  this  moment,  could  I  accept 
of  it  on  any  terms?     Base  as  I  have  been  for  a  moment — 
criminal,  as  at  another  moment  I  would  have  been,  I  value 
still  too  deeply  my  own  affections  to  yield  them  to  one  who 
cannot  make  a  like  return,  and  with  as  few  reservations.    But 
I  told  you  of  my  love  that  you  should  find  something  in  its 
violence — say  its  madness — to  extenuate,  if  not  to  excuse,  the 
errors  to  which  it  has  prompted  me.     I  studiously  declared 
those  errors,  the  better  to  prove  to  you  that  I  was  no  hypocrite, 
and  the  more  certainly  therefore  to  inspire  your  confidence 
in  one  who,  if  he  did  not  avoid,  was  at  least  as  little  willing 
to  defend  them.    I  came  to  you  for  your  pardon ;  and  unable 
to  win  your  love,  I  sought  only  for  your  esteem.     I  have 
spoken." 

"  Master  Hugh  Grayson — I  have  heard  you,  and  am  will- 
ing to  believe  in  much  that  you  have  said ;  but  I  am  not  pre- 
pared to  believe  that  in  much  that  you  have  said  you  have 
not  been  practising  upon  yourself.  You  have  said  you  loved 
me,  and  I  believe  it — sorry  I  am  that  you  should  love 
unprofltably  anywhere — more  sorry  still  that  I  should  be  the 
unwitting  occasion  of  a  misspent  and  profitless  passion.  But, 
look  closely  into  yourself — into  your  own  thoughts,  and  then 
ask  how  you  loved  me?  Let  me  answer — not  as  a  woman — 
not  as  a  thinking  and  a  feeling  creature — but  as  a  plaything, 
whom  your  inconsiderate  passion  might  practise  upon  at  will, 


326  THE  YEMASSEE. 

and  move  to  tears  or  smiles,  as  may  best  accord  with  a  caprice 
that  has  never  from  childhood  been  conscious  of  any  subjec- 
tion. Even  now,  you  come  to  me  for  my  confidence — my 
esteem.  Yet  you  studiously  practise  upon  my  affections  and 
emotions — upon  my  woman  weaknesses.  You  saw  that  I 
loved  another — I  shame  not  to  say  it,  for  I  believe  and  feel 
it — and  you  watched  me  like  a  spy.  You  had  there  no  regu- 
lating principle  keeping  down  impulse,  but  with  the  caprice 
of  a  bad  passion,  consenting  to  a  meanness,  which  is  subject 
to  punishment  in  our  very  slaves.  Should  I  trust  the  man 
who,  under  any  circumstances  save  those  of  another^  good 
and  safety,  should  deserve  the  epithet  of  eavesdropper  ?  " 

"  Forbear — forbear — in  mercy  !  " 

"  No,  Master  Grayson — let  me  not  forbear.  Were  it  prin- 
ciple and  not  pride  that  called  upon  me  to  forbear,  I  should 
obey  it ;  but  I  have  known  you  from  childhood,  Hugh,  and  1 
speak  to  you  now  with  all  the  freedom — and,  believe  me — ■ 
with  all  the  affection  of  that  period.  I  know  your  failing, 
and  I  speak  to  it.  I  would  not  wound  your  heart,  I  only 
aim  at  the  amendment  of  your  understanding.  I  would  give 
it  a  true  direction.  I  believe  your  heart  to  be  in  the  right 
place — it  only  wants  that  your  mind  should  never  swerve 
from  its  place.  Forgive  me,  therefore,  if,  speaking  what 
I  hold  to  be  just,  I  should  say  that  which  should  seem  to  be 
harsh  also." 

"Go  on — go  on,  Miss  Matthews — I  can  bear  it  all — any- 
thing from  you." 

"  And  but  small  return,  Master  Grayson,  for  I  have  borne 
much  from  you.  Not  content  with  the  one  error,  which  freely 
I  forgave — so  far  as  forgiveness  may  be  yielded  without 
amendment  or  repentance — you  proceeded  to  another — to  a 
crime,  a  dark,  a  dreadful  crime.  You  sought  the  life  of  a 
fellow-creature,  without  provocation,  and  worse  still,  Master 
Grayson,  without  permitting  your  enemy  the  common  footing 
of  equality.  In  that  one  act  there  was  malignity,  murder, 
and—" 

"  No  more — no  more — speak  it  not — " 

"  Cowardice !  " 

"  Thou  art  bent  to  crush  me  quite,  Bess  Matthews — thou 
wouldst  have  me  in  the  dust — thy  foot  on  my  head,  and  the 


THE  YEMASSEE.  327 

world  seeing  it.     This  is  thy  triumph." 

"  A  sad  one,  Hugh  Grayson — a  sad  one — for  thou  hast  thy 
good — thy  noble  qualities,  wert  thou  not  a  slave." 

"  Slave,  too — malignant,  murderer,  coward,  slave." 

"Ay,  to  thy  baser  thoughts,  and  from  these  would  I  free 
thee.  With  thee — I  believe — it  is  but  to  know  the  tyranny  to 
overthrow  it.  Thy  pride  of  independence  would  then  be 
active,  and  in  that  particular  most  nobly  exercised.  But  let 
me  proceed." 

"  Is  there  more  ?  " 

"Yes,— and  thou  wilt  better  prove  thy  regard  for  my 
esteem,  when  thou  wilt  stand  patiently  to  hear  me  out.  Thou 
didst  not  kill,  but  all  the  feeling  of  death— the  death  of  the 
mind — was  undergone  by  thy  destined  victim.  He  felt  him- 
self under  thee,  he  saw  no  hope,  he  looked  up  in  the  glance 
of  thy  descending  knife,  and  knew  not  that  the  good  mood 
would  so  soon  return  to  save  him  from  death,  and  thee  from 
perdition.  In  his  thought  thou  didst  slay  him,  though  thou 
struck  no  blow  to  his  heart." 

"  True,  true— I  thought  not  of  that." 

"Yet  thou  earnest  to  me,  Hugh  Grayson,  and  claimed' 
merit  for  thy  forbearance.  Thou  wert  confident,  because  thou 
didst  not  all  the  crime  thy  first  criminal  spirit  proposed  to 
thee.  Shall  I  suggest  that  the  good  "angel  which  interposed 
was  thy  weakness — art  thou  sure  that  the  dread  of  punish- 
ment, and  not  the  feeling  of  good,  stayed  thee  not  ?  'J 

"  Xo !  as  I  live,— as  I  stand  before  thee,  Bess  Matthews, 
thou  dost  me  wrong.  God  help  me,  no  !  I  was  bad  enough, 
and  base  enough,  without  that — it  was  not  the  low  fear  of  the 
hangman — not  the  rope — not  the  death.  I  am  sure  it  was 
any  thing  but  that." 

"  I  believe  you ;  but  what  was  it  brought  you  to  me  with  all 
this  story— the  particulars  at  full,— the  dreadful  incidents 
one  upon  the  other,  until  thou  saw'st  my  agony  under  the 
uplifted  knife  aiming  at  the  bosom  of  one  as  far  above  thee, 
Hugh  Grayson,  in  all  that  makes  the  noble  gentleman,  as  it 
is  possible  for  principle  to  be  above  passion,  and  the  love  of 
God  and  good  works  superior  to  the  fear  of  punishment. — 
Where  was  thy  manliness  in  this  recital?  Thou  hast  no 
answer  here." 


328  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  Thou  speakest  proudly  for  him,  Bess  Matthews — it  is  well 
he  stands  so  high  in  thy  sight." 

"  I  forgive  thee  that  sneer,  too,  Master  Grayson,  along  with 
thy  malignity,  thy  murder,  and  thy — manliness.  Be  thou 
forgiven  of  all — but  let  us  say  no  more  together.  My  regards 
are  not  with  me  to  bestow — they  belong  to  thy  doings,  and 
thou  mayst  command,  not  solicit,  whenever  thou  dost  deserve 
them.    Let  us  speak  no  more  together." 

"Cruel — most  heartless — am  I  so  low  in  thy  sight?  See, 
I  am  at  thy  feet — trample  me  in  the  dust — I  will  not  shrink — 
I  will  not  reproach  thee." 

"  Thou  should st  shame  at  this  practice  upon  my  feelings. 
Thou,  Hugh  Grayson — with  thy  mind,  with  thy  pride — 
shouldst  not  aim  to  do  by  passionate  entreaty  what  thou 
mayst  not  do  by  sense  and  right  reason.  Rise,  sir — thou  canst 
not  move  me  now.  Thou  hast  undone  thyself  in  my  sight — ■ 
thou  need'st  not  sink  at  my  feet  to  have  me  look  down  upon 
thee." 

Had  a  knife  gone  into  the  heart  of  the  young  man,  a 
more  agonizing  expression  could  riot  have  overshadowed  his 
countenance.  The  firmness  of  the  maiden  had  taught  him 
her  strength  not  less  than  his  own  weakness.  He  felt  his 
error,  and  with  the  mind  for  which  she  had  given  him  credit, 
he  rose  with  a  new  determination  to  his  feet. 

"  Thou  art  right,  Miss  Matthews — and  in  all  that  has 
passed,  mine  has  been  the  error  and  the  wrong.  I  will  not 
ask  for  the  regards  which  I  should  command;  but  thou  shalt 
hear  well  of  me  henceforward,  and  wilt  do  me  more  grateful 
justice  when  we  meet  again." 

"  I  take  thy  promise,  Hugh,  for  I  know  thy  independence 
of  character,  and  such  a  promise  will  not  be  necessary  now 
for  thy  good.  Take  my  hand — I  forgive  thee.  It  is  my 
weakness,  perhaps,  to  do  so — but  I  forgive  thee." 

He  seized  her  hand,  which  she  had,  with  a  girlish  frank- 
ness, extended  to  him,  carried  it  suddenly  to  his  lips,  and 
immediately  left  the  dwelling. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  329 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

A  brief  and  passing  dialogue  between  Grayson  and  the 
pastor,  at  the  entrance,  partially  explained  to  the  latter  the 
previous  history.  The  disposition  of  Matthews  in  regard  to 
the  pretensions  of  Grayson  to  his  daughter's  hand — of  which 
he  had  long  been  conscious — was  rather  favourable  than  other- 
wise. In  this  particular  the  suit  of  Grayson  derived  im- 
portance from  the  degree  of  ill-favour  with  which  the  old 
gentleman  had  been  accustomed  to  consider  that  of  Harrison. 
With  strong  prejudices,  the  pastor  was  quite  satisfied  to  obey 
an  impression,  and  to  mistake,  as  with  persons  of  strong 
prejudices  is  frequently  the  case,  an  impulse  for  an  argu- 
ment. Not  that  he  could  urge  any  thing  against  the  suitor 
who  was  the  favourite  of  his  child— of  that  he  felt  satisfied— 
but,  coming  fairly  under  the  description  of  the  doggerel  satir- 
ist, he  did  not  dislike  Harrison  a  jot  less  for  having  little 
reason  to  dislike  him.     And  there  is  something  in  this. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  no  little  regret,  that  he  beheld  the 
departure  of  Grayson  under  circumstances  so  unfavourable  to 
his  suit.  From  his  own,  and  the  lips  of  his  daughter,  alike, 
he  had  been  taught  to  understand  that  she  had  objections; 
but  the  emotion  of  Grayson,  and  the  openly-expressed  indig- 
nation of  Bess,  at  once  satisfied  him  of  the  occurrence  of  that 
which  effectually  excluded  the  hope  that  time  might  effect 
some  change  for" the  better.  He  was  content,  therefore,  simply 
to  regret  what  his  own  good  sense  taught  him  he  could  not 
amend,  and  what  his  great  regard  for  his  child's  peace  per- 
suaded him  not  to  attempt. 

Grayson,  in  the  meantime,  hurried  away  under  strong 
exciteiiient.  He  had  felt  deeply  the  denial,  but  far  more 
deeply  the  rebukes  of  the  maiden.  She  had  searched  nar- 
rowly into  his  inner  mind — had  probed  close  its  weaknesses — 
had  laid  bare  to  his  own  eyes  those  silent  motives  of  his  con- 
duct, which  he  had  not  himself  dared  to  analyze  or  encounter. 
His  pride  was  hurt  by  her  reproaches,  and  he  was  ashamed  of 
the  discoveries  which  she  had  made.     Though  mortified  to 


330  THE  YEMASSEE. 

the  soul,  however,  there  was  a  redeeming  principle  at  work 
within  him.  He  had  been  the  slave  of  his  mood :  but  he  deter- 
mined, from  that  moment,  upon  the  overthrow  of  the  tyranny. 
To  this  she  had  counselled  him;  to  this  his  own  pride  of 
character  had  also  counselled  him ;  and,  though  agonized  with 
the  defeated  hopes  clamouring  in  his  bosom,  he  adopted  a 
noble  decision,  and  determined  to  be  at  least  worthy  of  the 
love  which  he  yet  plainly  felt  he  could  never  win.  His  course 
now  was  to  adopt  energetic  measures  in  preparing  for  any 
contest  that  might  happen  with  the  Indians.  Of  this  danger 
he  was  not  altogether  conscious.  He  did  not  imagine  it  so 
near  at  hand,  and  had  only  given  in  to  precautionary  measures 
with  regard  to  his  mother,  in  compliance  with  his  brother's 
wish,  and  as  no  great  inconvenience  could  result  from  their 
temporary  removal.  But  the  inflexible  obstinacy  of  thev 
pastor  in  refusing  to  take  the  shelter  of  the  contiguous  Block 
House,  led  him  more  closely  to  reflect  upon  the  consequent 
exposure  of  Bess  Matthews;  and,  from  thus  reflecting,  the 
danger  became  magnified  to  his  eyes.  He  threw  himself 
upon  the  steed  of  Harrison,  as  soon  as  he  reached  the  Block 
House;  and  without  troubling  himself  to  explain  to  any  one 
his  intentions,  for  he  was  too  proud  for  that,  he  set  off  at 
once,  and  at  full  speed,  to  arouse  such  of  the  neighbouring 
foresters  as  had  not  yet  made  their  appearance  at  the  place 
of  gathering,  or  had  been  too  remotely  situated  for  previous 
warning. 

The  old  pastor,  on  parting  with  the  disappointed  youth, 
re-entered  the  dwelling,  and  without  being  perceived  by  his 
daughter.  She  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  apartment,  her 
finger  upon  her  lips,  and  absorbed  in  meditation  as  quiet  as 
if  she  had  never  before  been  disturbed  for .  an  instant ;  like 
some  one  of  those  fine  embodiments  of  heavenward  devotion 
we  meat  with  now  and  then  in  a  Holy  Family  by  one  of  the 
old  masters.  He  approached  her,  and  when  his  presence  be- 
came evident,  she  knelt  suddenly  before  him. 

"  Bless  me,  father — dear  father — bless  me,  and  let  me 
retire." 

"  God  bless  you,  Bess — and  watch  over  and  protect  you — 
but  what  disturbs  you?    You  are  troubled." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  331 

"  I  know  not,  father — but  I  fear.  I  fear  something  terrible, 
yet  know  not  what.     My  thoughts  are  all  in  confusion." 

"  You  need  sleep,  my  child,  and  quiet.  These  excitements 
and  foolish  reports  have  worried  you;  but  a  night's  sleep 
will  make  all  well  again.  Go  now — go  to  your  mother,  and 
may  the  good  angels  keep  you." 

With  the  direction  she  arose,  and  threw  her  arms  about  his 
neck,  and  with  a  kiss,  affectionately  bidding  him  good  night, 
she  retired  to  her  chamber,  first  passing  a  few  brief  moments 
with  her  mother  in  the  adjoining  room.  Calling  to  the  trusty 
negro  who  performed  such  offices  in  his  household,  the  pastor 
gave  orders  for  the  securing  of  the  house,  and  retired  to  his 
chamber  also.  July — the  name  of  the  negro — proceeded  to 
fasten  the  windows. 

This  he  did  by  means  of  a  wooden  bolt;  and  thrusting  a 
thick  bar  of  knotted  pine  into  hooks  on  either  side  of  the  door, 
he  coolly  threw  himself  down  to  his  own  slumbers  alongside 
of  it.  We  need  scarcely  add,  knowing  the  susceptibility  of 
the  black  in  this  particular,  that  sleep  was  not  slow  in  its 
approaches  to  the  strongest  tower  in  the  citadel  of  his  senses. 
The  subtle  deity  soon  mastered  all  his  sentinels,  and  a  snore, 
not  the  most  scrupulous  in  the  world,  sent  forth  from  the 
flattened  but  capacious  nostrils,  soon  announced  his  entire 
conquest  over  the  premises  he  had  invaded. 

But  though  she  retired  to  her  chamber,  Bess  Matthews  in 
vain  sought  for  sleep.  Distressed  by  the  previous  circum- 
stances, and  warmly  excited  as  she  had  been  by  the  trying 
character  of  the  scene  through  which  she  had  recently  passed, 
she  had  vainly  endeavoured  to  find  that  degree  of  quiet,  which 
she  felt  necessary  to  her  mental  not  less  than  to  her  physical 
repose.  After  tossing  fruitlessly  on  her  couch  for  a  fatiguing 
hour,  she  arose,  and  slightly  unclosing  the  window,  the  only 
one  in  her  chamber,  she  looked  forth  upon  the  night.  It  was 
clear,  with  many  stars — a  slight  breeze  bent  the  tree-tops,  and 
their  murmurs,  as  they  swayed  to  and  fro,  were  pleasant  to 
her  melancholy  fancies.  How  could  she  sleep  when  she 
thought  of  the  voluntary  risk  taken  by  Harrison?  Where  was 
he  then — in  what  danger,  surrounded  by  what  deadly  enemies  ? 
— perhaps  under  their  very  knives,  and  she  not  there  to  inter- 
pose— to  implore  for — to  save  him.     How  could  she  fail  to 


332  THE  YEMASSBE. 

love  so  much  disinterested  generosity — so  much  valour  and 
adventure,  taken,  as  with  a  pardonable  vanity,  she  fondly 
thought,  so  much  for  her  safety  and  for  the  benefit  of  hers. 
Thus  musing,  thus  watching,  she  lingered  at  the  window, 
looking  forth,  but  half  conscious  as  she  gazed,  upon  the  thick 
woods,  stretching  away  in  black  masses,  of  those  old  Indian 
forests.  Just  then,  the  moon  rose  calmly  and  softly  in  the 
east — a  fresher  breeze  rising  along  with,  and  gathering  seem- 
ingly with  her  ascent.  The  river  wound  partly  before  her 
gaze,  and  there  was  a  long  bright  shaft  of  light — a  pure  white 
gleam,  which  even  its  ripples  could  not  overcome  or  dissipate, 
borrowed  from  the  pale  orb  just  then  swelling  above  it.  Sud- 
denly a  canoe  shot  across  the  water  in  the  distance — then 
another,  and  another — quietly,  and  with  as  little  show  of  life, 
as  if  they  were  only  the  gloomy  shades  of  the  past  generation's 
warriors.  Not  a  voice,  not  a  whisper — not  even  the  flap  of 
an  oar,  disturbed  the  deep  hush  of  the  scene;  and  the  little 
canoes  that  showed  dimly  in  the  river  from  afar,  as  soon  as 
they  had  overshot  the  pale  gleamy  bar  of  the  moon  upon  its 
bosom,  were  no  longer  perceptible.  Musing  upon  these  objects 
with  a  vague  feeling  of  danger,  and  an  oppressive  sense  at 
the  same  time  of  exhaustion,  which  forbade  anything  like  a 
coherent  estimate  of  the  thoughts  which  set  in  upon  her  mind 
like  so  many  warring  currents,  Bess  left  the  window,  and 
threw  herself,  listlessly  yet  sad,  upon  the  couch,  vainly  solic- 
iting that  sleep  which  seemed  so  reluctant  to  come.  How 
slow  was  its  progress — how  long  before  she  felt  the  haze 
growing  over  her  eyelids.  A  sort  of  stupor  succeeded — she 
was  conscious  of  the  uncertainty  of  her  perception,  and  though 
still,  at  intervals,  the  beams  from  the  fast  ascending  moon 
caught  her  eyes,  they  flitted  before  her  like  spiritual  forms 
that  looked  on  and  came  but  to  depart.  These  at  length  went 
from  her  entirely  as  a  sudden  gust  closed  the  shutter,  and  a 
difficult  and  not  very  sound  slumber  came  at  last  to  her  relief. 
A  little  before  this,  and  with  the  first  moment  of  the  rise 
of  the  moon  on  the  eastern  summits,  the  watchful  Hector, 
obedient  to  his  orders,  prepared  to  execute  the  charge  which 
his  master  had  given  him  at  parting.  Eeleasing  Dugdale  from 
the  log  to  which  he  had  been  bound,  he  led  the  impatient  and 
fierce  animal  down  to  the  river's  brink,  and  through  the 


THE  YEMASSEE.  333 

tangled  route  only  known  to  the  hunter.  The  single  track, 
imperfectly  visible  in  the  partial  light,  impeded  somewhat  his 
progress,  so  that  the  moon  was  fairly  visible  by  the  time  he 
reached  the  river.  This  circumstance  was  productive  of  some 
small  inconvenience  to  the  faithful  slave,  since  it  proved  him 
something  of  a  laggard  in  his  duty,  and  at  the  same  time, 
from  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  occasioned  no  little  anxiety  in 
his  mind  for  his  masters  safety.  With  a  few  words,  well 
understood  seemingly  by  the  well-trained  animal,  he  cheered 
him  on,  and  pushing  him  to  the  slight  trench  made  by  the 
horse's  hoof,  clearly  defined  upon  the  path,  and  which  had 
before  been  shown  him,  he  thrust  his  nose  gently  down  upon 
it,  while  taking  from  his  head  the  muzzle;  without  which  he 
must  have  been  a  dangerous  neighbour  to  the  Indians,  for 
whose  pursuit  he  had  been  originally  trained  by  the  Spaniards, 
in  a  system,  the  policy  of  which  was  still  in  part  continued,  or 
rather,  of  late,  revived,  by  his  present  owner. 

"  Now,  go  wid  you,  Dugdale ;  be  off,  da's  a  good  dog,  and 
look  out  for  your  maussa.  Dis  he  track — hark — hark — hark, 
dog — dis  de  track  ob  he  critter.  Nose  'em,  old  boy — nose  'em 
well.  Make  yourself  good  nigger,  for  you  hab  blessed  maussa. 
Soon  you  go  now,  better  for  bote.  Hark  'em,  boy,  hark  'em, 
and  hole  'em  fast." 

The  animal  seemed  to  comprehend — looked  intelligently 
up  into  the  face  of  his  keeper,  then  stooping  down,  carefully 
drew  a  long  breath  as  he  scented  the  designated  spot,  coursed 
a  few  steps  quickly  around  it,  and  then,  as  if  perfectly 
assured,  sent  forth  a  long  deep  bay,  and  set  off  on  the  direct 
route  with  all  the  fleetness  of  a  deer. 

"  Da  good  dog  dat,  dat  same  Dugdale.  But  he  hab  reason 
— Hector  no  gib  'em  meat  for  not'ing.  Spaniard  no  l'arn  'em 
better,  and  de  Lord  hab  mercy  'pon  dem  Injin,  eff  he  once 
stick  he  teet  in  he  troat.  He  better  bin  in  de  fire,  for  he 
neber  left*  off,  long  as  he  kin  kick.  Hark — da  good  dog,  dat 
same  Dugdale.  Wonder  way  maussa  pick  up  da  name  for 
'em ;  speck  he  Spanish — in  English,  he  bin  Dogdale." 

Thus  soliloquizing,  after  his  own  fashion,  the  negro  turned 
his  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  strange  vessel,  lying  about  a 
mile  and  a  half  above  the  bank  upon  which  he  stood,  and  now 
gracefully  outlined  by  the  soft  light  of  the  moon.    She  floated 


334  THE  YEMASSEE. 

there,  in  the  bosom  of  the  stream,  still  and  silent  as  a  sheeted 
spectre,  and  to  all  appearance  with  quite  as  little  life.  Built 
after  the  finest  models  of  her  time,  and  with  a  distinct  regard 
to  the  irregular  pursuits  in  which  she  was  engaged,  her 
appearance  carried  to  the  mind  an  idea  of  lightness  and 
swiftness  which  was  not  at  variance  with  her  character.  The 
fairy-like  tracery  of  her  slender  masts,  her  spars,  and  cordage, 
harmonized  well  with  the  quiet  water  upon  which  she  rested 
like  some  native  bird,  and  with  the  soft  and  luxuriant  foliage 
covering  the  scenery  around,  just  then  coming  out  from 
shadow  into  the  gathering  moonbeams. 

While  the  black  looked,  his  eye  was  caught  by  a  stir  upon 
the  bank  directly  opposite ;  and,  at  length,  shooting  out  from 
the  shelter  of  cane  and  brush  which  thickly  fringed  a  small 
lagune  in  that  direction,  he  distinctly  saw  eight  or  ten  large 
double  canoes  making  for  the  side  of  the  river  upon  which 
he  stood.  They  seemed  filled  with  men,  and  their  paddles 
were  moved  with  a  velocity  only  surpassed  by  the  silence  which 
accompanied  their  use.  The  mischief  was  now  sufficiently 
apparent,  even  to  a  mind  so  obtuse  as  that  of  the  negro ;  and, 
without  risking  any  thing  by  personal  delay,  but  now  doubly 
aroused  in  anxiety  for  his  master — whose  predictions  he  saw 
were  about  to  be  verified — he  took  his  way  back  to  the  Block 
House  with  a  degree  of  hurry  proportioned  to  what  he  felt 
was  the  urgency  of  the  case.  It  did  not  take  him  long  to 
reach  the  Block  House,  into  which  he  soon  found  entrance, 
and  gave  the  alarm.  Proceeding  to  the  quarter  in  which  the 
wife  of  Granger  kept  her  abode,  he  demanded  from  her  a 
knife — all  the  weapon  he  wanted — while  informing  her,  as  he 
had  already  done  those  having  charge  of  the  iortress,  of  the 
approaching  enemy. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  the  knife,  Hector  ?  " 
"  I  want  'em,  missis — da's  all — I  guine  after  maussa." 
"What!  the  captain? — wiry,  where  is  he,  Hector?" 
"  Speck  he  in  berry  much  trouble.    I  must  go  see  a'ter  'em. 
Dugdale  gone  'ready — Dugdale  no  better  sarbant  dan  Hector. 
Gib  me  de  knife,  missis — dat  same  long  one  I  hab  for  cut 
he  meat." 

"  But,  Hector,  you  can  be  of  very  little  good  if  the  Indians 


THE  YEMASSEE.  335 

are  out.    You  don't  know  where  to  look  for  the  captain,  and 
you'll  tread  on  them  as  you  go  through  the  bush." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  missis — I  must  go.  I  hab  hand  and  foot — ■ 
I  hab  knife — I  hab  eye  for  see — I  hab  toot  for  bite — I  'trong, 
missis,  and  I  must  go  look  for  maussa.  God !  missis,  if  any 
ting  happen  to  maussa,  wha  Hector  for  do  ?  where  he  guine — 
who  be  he  new  maussa  ?    I  must  go,  missis — gib  me  de  knife." 

"  Well,  Hector,  if  you  will  go,  here's  what  you  want.  Here's 
the  knife,  and  here's  your  master's  gun.  You  must  take  that 
too,"  said  the  woman. 

"  No — I  tank  you  for  not'ing,  missis.  I  no  want  gun ;  I 
'fraid  ob  'em ;  he  kin  shoot  all  sides.  I  no  like  'em.  Gi'  me 
knife.  I  use  to  knife — I  kin  scalp  dem  Injin  wid  knife  a'ter 
he  own  fashion.    But  I  no  use  to  gun." 

"  Well,  but  your  master  is  used  to  it.  You  must  carry  it 
for  him.  He  has  no  arms,  and  this  may  save  his  life.  Hold 
it  so,  and  there's  no  danger." 

She  showed  the  timid  Hector  how  to  carry  the  loaded 
weapon  so  as  to  avoid  risk  to  himself,  and,  persuaded  of  its 
importance  to  his  master,  he  ventured  to  take  it  in  his  hands. 

"  Well,  da  'nough— I  no  want  any  more.  I  gone,  missis,  I 
gone — but  'member — ef  maussa  come  back  and  Hector  loss — 
'member,  I  say.  I  no  runway — 'member  dat.  I  scalp — I  drown 
— I  dead — ebbery  ting  happen  to  me — but  I  no  runway." 

With  these  last  words,  the  faithful  black  started  upon  his 
adventure  of  clanger,  resolute  and  strong,  in  the  warm  affec- 
tion which  he  bore  his  master,  to  contend  with  every  form  of 
difficulty.  He  left  the  garrison  at  the  Block  House  duly 
aroused  to  the  conflict,  which  they  were  now  satisfied  was  not 
far  off. 


336  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

Let  us  now  return  to  the  chamber  of  Bess  Matthews.  She 
slept  not  soundly,  but  unconsciously,  and  heard  not  the  dis- 
tant but  approaching  cry — "Sangarrah-me — Sangarrah-me  \" 
The  war  had  begun;  and  in  the  spirit  and  with  the  words  of 
Yemassee  battle,  the  thirst  for  blood  was  universal  among 
their  warriors.  From  the  war-dance,  blessed  by  the  prophet, 
stimulated  by  his  exhortations,  and  warmed  by  the  blood  of 
their  human  sacrifice,  they  had  started  upon  the  war-path  in 
every  direction.  The  larger  division,  led  on  by  Sanutee  and 
the  prophet,  took  their  course  directly  for  Charleston,  while 
Ishiagaska,  heading  a  smaller  party,  proceeded  to  the  frontier 
settlements  upon  the  Pocota-ligO',  intending  massacre  along 
the  whole  line  of  the  white  borders,  including  the  now  flour- 
ishing town  of  Beaufort.  From  house  to  house,  with  the 
stealth  of  a  cat,  Ije  led  his  band  to  indiscriminate  slaughter, 
and,  diverging  with  this  object  from  one  settlement  to  another, 
he  contrived  to  reach  every  dwelling-place  of  the  whites  known 
to  him  in  that  neighbourhood.  But  in  many  places  he  had 
been  foiled.  The  providential  arrangements  of  Harrison, 
wherever,  in  the  brief  time  allowed  him,  he  had  found  it  pos- 
sible, had  rendered  their  design  in  great  part  innocuous 
throughout  that  section,  and,  duly  angered  with  his  dis- 
appointment, it  was  not  long  before  Ishiagaska  came  to  the 
little  cottage  of  the  pastor.  The  lights  had  been  all  extin- 
guished, and,  save  on  the  eastern  side,  the  dwelling  lay  in  the 
deepest  shadow.  The  quiet  of  the  whole  scene  formed  an 
admirable  contrast  to  the  horrors  gathering  in  perspective, 
and  about  to  destroy  its  sacred  and  sweet  repose  for  ever. 

With  the  wonted  caution  of  the  Indian,  Ishiagaska  led  on 
his  band  in  silence.  No  sound  was  permitted  to  go  before 
the  assault.  The  war-whoop,  with  which  they  anticipate  or 
accompany  the  stroke  of  battle,  was  not  suffered,  in  the  present 
instance,  to  prepare,  with  a  salutary  terror,  the  minds  of  their 
destined  victims.  Massacre,  not  battle,  was  the  purpose,  and 
the  secret  stratagem  of  the  marauder  usurped  the  fierce  habit 


THE  YEMASSEE.  337 

of  the  avowed  warrior.  Passing  from  cover  to  cover,  the  wily 
savage  at  length  approached  the  cottage  with  his  party.  He 
stationed  them  around  it,  concealed  each  under  his  tree.  He 
alone  advanced  to  the  dwelling  with  the  stealth  of  a  panther. 
Avoiding  the  clear  path  of  the  moon,  he  availed  himself,  now 
of  one  and  now  of  another  shelter — the  bush,  the  tree — what- 
ever might  afford  a  concealing  shadow  in  his  approach;  and 
where  this  was  wanting,  throwing  himself  flat  upon  the 
ground,  he  crawled  on  like  a  serpent — now  lying  snug  and 
immoveable,  now  taking  a  new  start  and  hurrying  in  his 
progress,  and  at  last  placing  himself  successfully  alongside  of 
the  little  white  paling  which  fenced  in  the  cottage,  and  ran 
at  a  little  distance  around  it.  He  parted  the  thong  which 
secured  the  wicket  with  his  knife,  ascended  the  little  avenue, 
and  then,  giving  ear  to  every  quarter  of  the  dwelling,  and 
finding  all  still,  proceeded  on  tiptoe  to  try  the  fastenings  of 
every  window.  The  door  he  felt  was  secure — so  was  each 
window  in  the  body  of  the  house,  which  he  at  length  encom- 
passed, noting  every  aperture  in  it.  At  length  he  came  to 
the  chamber  where  Bess  Matthews  slept, — a  chamber  forming 
one-half  of  the  little  shed,  or  addition  to  the  main  dwelling — 
the  other  half  being  occupied  for  the  same  purpose  by  her 
parents.  He  placed  his  hand  gently  upon  the  shutter,  and 
with  savage  joy  he  felt  it  yield  beneath  his  touch. 

The  moment  Ishiagaska  made  this  discovery,  he  silently 
retreated  to  a  little  distance  from  the  dwelling,  and  with  a 
signal  which  had  been  agreed  upon — the  single  and  melan- 
choly note  of  the  whippoor-will — he  gave  notice  to  his  band 
for  their  approach.  Imitating  his  previous  caution,  they  came 
forward  individually  to  the  cottage,  and  gathering  around 
him,  under  the  shadow  of  a  neighbouring  tree,  they  duly 
arranged  the  method  of  surprise. 

This  done,  under  the  guidance  of  Ishiagaska,  they  again 
approached  the  dwelling,  and  a  party  having  been  stationed 
at  the  door  in  silence,  another  party  with  their  leader  returned 
to  the  window  which  was  accessible.  Lifted  quietly  upon  the 
shoulders  of  two  of  them,  Ishiagaska  was  at  once  upon  a  level 
with  it.  He  had  already  drawn  it  aside,  and,  by  the  light  of 
the  moon  which  streamed  into  the  little  apartment,  he  was 
enabled  with  a  single  glance  to  take  in  its  contents.     The 


338  THE  YEMASSEE. 

half-slumbering  girl  felt  conscious  of  a  sudden  gush  of  air — 
a  rustling  sound,  and  perhaps  a  darkening  shadow;  but  the 
obtrusion  was  not  sufficient  to  alarm  into  action  faculties 
which  had  been  so  very  much  excited,  and  subsequently  de- 
pressed, by  the  severe  mental  trials  to  which  she  had  been 
subjected,  and  which  did  not  cease  to  trouble  her  even  while 
she  slept.  It  was  in  her  exhaustion  only  that  sleep  came  to 
her  relief.  But  even  in  her  dreams  there  floated  images  of 
terror ;  and  vague  aspects  that  troubled  or  threatened,  caused 
her  to  moan  in  her  sleep,  as  at  a  danger  still  to  be  appre- 
hended or  deplored.  She  lay  motionless,  however,  and  the 
wily  savage  succeeded  in  gaining  the  floor  of  her  chamber 
without  disturbing  the  sleeper.  Here  he  stood,  silent  for 
awhile,  surveying  at  his  ease  the  composed  and  beautiful  out- 
line of  his  victim's  person.  And  she  was  beautiful^the 
ancient  worship  might  well  have  chosen  such  an  offering  in 
sacrifice  to  his  choice  demon.  Never  did  her  beauty  show 
forth  more  exquisitely  than  now,  when  murder  stood  nigh, 
ready  to  blast  it  for  ever — ready  to  wrest  the  sacred  fire  of 
life  from  the  altar  of  that  heart  which  had  maintained  itself 
so  well  worthy  of  the  heaven  from  whence  it  came.  Ishia- 
gaska  looked  on,  but  with  no  feeling  inconsistent  with  the 
previous  aim  which  had  brought  him  there.  The  dress  had 
fallen  low  from  her  neck,  and  in  the  meek,  spiritual  light  of 
the  moon,  the  soft,  wave-like  heave  of  the  scarce  living  prin- 
ciple within  her  bosom  was  like  that  of  some  blessed  thing, 
susceptible  of  death,  yet,  at  the  same  time,  strong  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  most  exquisite  developments  of  life.  Her  long 
tresses  hung  about  her  neck,  relieving,  but  not  concealing,  its 
snowy  whiteness.  One  arm  fell  over  the  side  of  the  couch, 
nerveless,  but  soft  and  snowy  as  the  f rostwreath  lifted  by  the 
capricious  wind.  The  other  lay  pressed  upon  her  bosom 
above  her  heart,  as  if  restraining  those  trying  apprehensions 
which  had  formed  so  large  a  portion  of  her  prayers  when  she 
laid  herself  down  to  sleep.  It  was  a  picture  for  any  eye  but 
that  of  the  savage — a  picture  softening  any  mood  but  that  of 
the  habitual  murderer.  It  worked  no  change  in  the  ferocious 
soul  of  Ishiagaska.  He  looked,  but  without  emotion.  Nor 
was  he  long  disposed  to  hesitate.  Assisting  another  of  the 
Indians  into  the  apartment,  who  passed  at  once  through  it 


THE  YEMASSEE.  339 

into  the  hall  adjoining,  the  door  of  which  he  was  to  unbar  for 
the  rest,  Ishiagaska  now  approached  the  couch,  and  drawing 
,his  knife  from  the  sheath,  the  broad  blade  was  uplifted,  shin- 
ing bright  in  the  moonbeams,  and  the  inflexible  point  bore 
down  upon  that  sweet,  white  round,  in  which  all  was  love- 
liness, and  where  was  all  of  life; — the  fair  bosom,  the  pure 
heart,  where  the  sacred  principles  of  purity  and  of  vitality 
had  at  once  their  abiding  place.  With  one  hand  he  lifted 
aside  the  long  white  finger  that  lay  upon  it,  and  in  the  next 
instant  the  blow  would  have  descended  fatally,  but  that  the 
maiden's  sleep  was  less  sound  than  it  appeared.  His  foot- 
steps had  not  disturbed  her,  but  his  touch  did.  The  pressure 
of  his  grasp  brought  instant  consciousness  to  her  sense.  This 
may  have  been  assisted  also  by  the  glare  of  the  moon  across 
her  eye;  the  window,  opened  by  the  red  man,  remaining  still 
wide.  Turning  uneasily  beneath  the  glare,  she  felt  the  savage 
gripe  upon  her  fingers.  It  was  an  instinct,  swift  as  the  light- 
ning, that  made  her  grasp  the  uplifted  arm  with  a  strength 
of  despairing  nature,  not  certainly  her  own.  She  started 
with  a  shriek,  and  the  change  of  position  accompanying  her 
movement,  and  the  unlooked-for  direction  and  restraint  given 
to  his  arm,  when,  in  that  nervous  grasp,  she  seized  it,  partially 
diverted  the  down-descending  weapon  of  death.  It  grazed 
slightly  aside,  inflicting  a  wound,  of  which,  at  that  moment, 
she  was  perfectly  unconscious.  Again  she  cried  out  with  a 
convulsive  scream,  as  she  saw  him  transfer  the  knife  from  the 
one  to  the  other  hand.  For  a  few  seconds  her  stru^ofles  were 
all-powerful,  and  kept  back,  for  that  period  of  time,  the  fate 
which  had  been  so  certain.  But  what  could  the  frail  spirit, 
the  soft  hand,  the  unexercised  muscles  avail  or  achieve  against 
such  an  enemy  and  in  such  a  contest  ?  With  another  scream, 
as  of  one  in  a  last  agony,  consciousness  went  from  her  in  the 
conviction  of  the  perfect  fruitlessness  of  the  contest.  With  a 
single  apostrophe — 

"  God  be  merciful — oh  !  my  father — oh  !  Gabriel,  save  me — 
Gabriel — Ah  !  God.  God — he  cannot — "  her  eyes  closed,  and 
she  lay  supine  under  the  knife  of  the  savage. 

But  the  first  scream  which  she  uttered  had  reached  the 
ears  of  her  father,  who  had  been  more  sleepless  than  herself. 
The  scream  of  his  child  had  been  sufficient  to  give  renewed 


340  THE  YEMASSEE. 

activity  and  life  to  the  limbs  of  the  aged  pastor.  Starting 
from  his  couch,  and  seizing  upon  a  massive  club  which  stood 
in  the  corner  of  his  chamber,  he  rushed  desperately  into  the 
apartment  of  Bess,  and  happily  in  time.  Her  own  resistance 
had  been  sufficient  to  give  pause  for  this  new  succour,  and  it 
ceased  just  when  the  old  man,  now  made  conscious  of  the 
danger,  cried  aloud  in  the  spirit  of  his  faith,  while  striking  a 
blow  which,  effectually  diverting  Ishiagaska  from  the  maiden, 
compelled  him  to  defend  himself. 

"  Strike  with  me,  Father  of  Mercies,"  cried  the  old  Puritan 
— "  strike  with  thy  servant — thou  who  struck  with  David  and 
with  Gideon,  and  who  swept  thy  waters  against  Pharoah — 
strike  with  the  arm  of  thy  poor  instrument.  Make  the  savage 
to  bite  the  dust,  while  I  strike — I  slay  in  thy  name,  Oh ! 
thou  avenger — even  in  the  name  of  the  Great  Jehovah !  " 

And  calling  aloud  in  some  such  apostrophe  upon  the  name 
of  the  Deity  at  every  effort  which  he  made  with  his  club,  the 
old  pastor  gained  a  temporary  advantage  over  the  savage, 
who,  retreating  from  his  first  furious  assault  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  couch,  enabled  him  to  place  himself  alongside  of 
his  child.  Without  giving  himself  a  moment  even  to  her 
restoration,  with  a  paroxysm  of  fury  that  really  seemed 
from  heaven,  he  advanced  upon  his  enemy — the  club  swing- 
ing over  his  head  with  an  exhibition  of  strength  that  was  re- 
markable in  so  old  a  man.  Ishiagaska,  pressed  thus,  unwill- 
ing with  his  knife  to  venture  within  its  reach,  had  recourse 
to  his  tomahawk,  which,  hurriedly,  he  threw  at  the  head 
of  his  approaching  assailant.  But'  the  aim  was  wide — the 
deadly  weapon  new  into  the  opposite  wall,  and  the  blow  of 
the  club  rang  upon  the  head  of  the  Indian  with  sufficient 
effect,  first  to  stagger,  and  then  to  bring  him  down.  This 
done,  the  old  man  rushed  to  the  window,  where  two  other 
savages  were  labouring  to  elevate  a  third  to  the  entrance ;  and, 
with  another  sweep  of  his  mace,  he  defeated  their  design,  by 
crushing  down  the  elevated  person  whose  head  and  hands 
were  just  above  the  sill  of  the  window.  In  their  first  con- 
fusion, he  closed  the  shutter,  and  securely  bolted  it,  then 
turned,  with  all  the  aroused  affections  of  a  father,  to  the 
restoration  of  his  child. 

Meanwhile,  the  Indian  who  had  undertaken  to  unclose  the 


THE  YEMASSEE.  341 

main  entrance  for  his  companions,  ignorant  of  the  sleeping 
negro  before  it,  stumbled  over  him.  July,  who,  like  most 
negroes  suddenly  awaking,  was  stupid  and  confused,  rose, 
however,  with  a  sort  of  instinct;  rubbing  his  eyes  with  the 
fingers  of  one  hand,  he  stretched  out  the  other  to  the  bar,  and, 
without  being  at  all  conscious  of  what  he  was  doing,  lifted  it 
from  its  socket.  He  was  soon  brought  to  a  sense  of  his  error, 
as  a  troop  of  half-naked  savages  rushed  through  the  opening, 
pushing  him  aside  with  a  degree  of  violence  which  soon  taught 
him  his  danger.  He  knew  now  that  they  were  enemies ;  and, 
with  the  uplifted  bar  still  in  his  hand,  he  felled  the  foremost 
of  those  around  him — who  happened  to  be  the  fellow  who  first 
stumbled  over  him — and  rushed  bravely  enough  among  the 
rest.  But  the  weapon  he  made  use  of  was  an  unwieldly  one, 
and  not  at  all  calculated  for  such  a  contest.  He  was  soon 
taught  to  discover  this,  fatally,  when  it  swung  uselessly 
around,  and  was  put  aside  by  one  of  the  more  wily  savages, 
who,  adroitly  closing  in  with  the  courageous  negro,  soon 
brought  him  to  the  ground.  In  falling,  however,  he  contrived 
to  grapple  with  his  more  powerful  enemy,  and  the  two  went 
down  in  a  close  embrace  together.  But  the  hatchet  was  in 
the  hand  of  the  Indian,  and  a  moment  after  his  fall  it  crushed 
into  the  skull  of  the  negro.  Another  and  another  blow  fol- 
lowed, and  soon  ended  the  struggle.  While  the  pulse  was  still 
quivering  in  his  heart,  and  ere  his  eyes  had  yet  closed  in  the 
swimming  convulsions  of  death,  the  negro  felt  the  sharp  blade 
of  the  knife  sweeping  around  his  head.  The  conqueror  was 
about  to  complete  his  triumph  by  taking  off  the  scalp  of  his 
victim,  "  as  ye  peel  the  fig  when  the  fruit  is  fresh/'  when  a 
light,  borne  by  the  half-dressed  wife  of  the  pastor,  appeared 
at  the  door.  She  gave  new  terrors,  by  her  screams,  to  the 
scene  of  blood  and  strife  going  on  in  the  hall.  At  the  same 
moment,  followed  by  his  daughter,  who  vainly  entreated  him 
to  remain  in  the  chamber,  the  pastor  rushed  headlong  forward, 
wielding  the  club,  so  successful  already  against  one  set  of 
enemies,  in  contest  with  another. 

"  Go  not,  father — go  not,"  she  cried  earnestly,  now  fully 
restored  to  the  acutest  consciousness,  and  clinging  to  him 
passionately  all  the  while. 

"  Go  not,  John,  I  pray  you — "  implored  the  old  lady,  endeav- 


342  THE  YEMASSEE. 

j 

•ofcring  to  arrest  him.  But  his  impulse,  under  all  circum- 
stances, was  the  wisest  policy.  He  could  not  hope  for  safety 
by  hugging  his  chamber,  and  a  bold  struggle  to  the  last — a 
fearless  heart,  ready  hand,  and  teeth  clenched  with  a  fixed 
purpose — exhibit  a  proper  reason  when  dealing  with  the 
avowed  enemy.  A  furious  inspiration  seemed  to  fill  his  heart 
as  he  went  forward,  crying  aloud — 

"  I  fear  not.  The  buckler  of  Jehovah  is  over  his  servant.  I 
go  under  the  banner — I  fight  in  the  service  of  God.  Keep  me 
not  back,  woman — has  he  not  said — shall  I  misbelieve — he 
will  protect  his  servant.  He  will  strike  with  the  shepherd, 
and  the  wolf  shall  be  smitten  from  the  fold.  Avoid  thee, 
savage — unloose  thee  from  thy  prey.  The  sword  of  the  Lord 
and  of  Gideon  !  " 

Thus  saying,  he  rushed  like  one  inspired  upon  the  savage 
whose  knife  had  already  swept  around  the  head  of  the  negro. 
The  scalping  of  July's  head  was  a  more  difficult  matter  than 
the  Indian  had  dreamed  of,  fighting  in  the  dark.  It  was  only 
when  he  laid  hands  upon  it  that  he  found  the  difficulty  of 
taking  a  secure  hold.  There  was  no  war-tuft  to  seize  upon, 
and  the  wool  had  been  recently  abridged  by  the  judicious 
scissors.  He  had,  accordingly,  literally  to  peel  away  the  scalp 
with  the  flesh  itself.  The  pastor  interposed  just  after  he 
had  begun  the  operation. 

"Avoid  thee,  thou  bloody  Philistine — give  up  thy  prey. 
The  vengeance  of  the  God  of  Jacob  is  upon  thee.  In  his  name 
I  strike,  I  slay." 

As  he  shouted  he  struck  a  headlong,  a  heavy  blow,  which, 
could  it  have  taken  effect,  would  most  probably  have  been 
fatal.  But  the  pastor  knew  nothing  of  the  arts  of  war,  and 
"though  on  his  knees  over  the  negro,  and  almost  under  the 
feet  of  his  new  assailant,  the  Indian  was  too  "cunning  of 
fence/'  too  well  practised  in  strategy,  to  be  overcome  in  this 
simple  manner.  With  a  single  jerk  which  completed  his 
labour,  he  tore  the  reeking  scalp  from  the  head  of  the  negro, 
and  dropping  his  own  at  the  same  instant  on  a  level  with  the 
floor,  the  stroke  of  the  pastor  went  clean  over  it;  and  the 
assailant  himself,  borne  forward  incontinently  by  the  ill- 
advised  effort,  was  hurried  stunningly  against  the  wall  of  the 
apartment,  and  in  the  thick  of  his  enemies.     In  a  moment 


THE  YEMASSEE.  343 

they  had  him  down — the  club  wrested  from  his  hands,  and 
exhaustion  necessarily  following  such  prodigious  and  unac- 
customed efforts  in  so  old  a  man,  he  now  lay  without  strength 
or  struggle  under  the  knives  of  his  captors. 

As  she  beheld  the  condition  of  her  father,  all  fear,  all 
stupor,  passed  away  instantly  from  the  mind  of  Bess  Mat- 
thews. She  rushed  forward — she  threw  herself  between  the 
red  men  and  their  victim,  and  entreated  their  knives  to  her 
heart  rather  than  to  his.  Clasping  the  legs  of  the  warrior 
immediately  bestriding  the  body  of  the  old  man,  with  all  a 
woman's  and  a  daughter's  eloquence  she  prayed  for  pity.  But 
she  spoke  to  unwilling  ears,  and  to  senses  that,  scorning  any 
such  appeals  in  their  own  cases,  looked  upon  them  with  sover- 
eign contempt  when  made  by  others.  She  saw  this  in  the 
grim  smile  with  which  he  heard  her  apostrophes.  His  white 
teeth,  gleaming  out  between  the  dusky  lips  which  enclosed 
them,  looked  to  her  fears  like  those  of  the  hungry  tiger,  gnash- 
ing with  delight  at  the  banquet  of  blood  at  last  spread  before 
it.  While  yet  she  spoke,  his  hand  tore  away  from  her  hair 
a  long  and  glittering  ornament  which  had  confined  it — another 
tore  from  her  neck  the  clustering  necklace  which  could  not 
adorn  it;  and  the  vain  fancies  of  the  savage  immediately 
appropriated  them  as  decorations  for  his  own  person — her  own 
head-ornament  being  stuck  most  fantastically  in  the  loner, 
single  tuft  of  hair — the  war-tuft,  and  all  that  is  left  at  that 
period — of  him  who  had  seized  it.  She  saw  how  much  pleas- 
ure the  bauble  imparted,  and  a  new  suggestion  of  her  thought 
gave  her  a  momentary  hope. 

"  Spare  him — spare  his  life,  and  thou  shalt  have  more — 
thou  shalt  have  beads  and  rings.  Look — look," — and  the 
jewelled  ring  from  her  finger,  and  another,  a  sacred  pledge 
from  Harrison,  were  given  into  his  grasp.  He  seized  them 
with  avidity. 

"  Good — good — more  !  "  cried  the  ferocious  but  frivolous 
savage,  in  the  few  words  of  broken  English  which  he  imper- 
fectly uttered  in  reply  to  hers,  and  which  he  well  understood; 
for  such  had  been  the  degree  of  intimacy  existing  between 
the  Yemassees  and  the  settlers,  that  but  few  of  the  former 
were  entirely  ignorant  of  some  portions  of  the  language  of 
the  latter.     So  far,  something  had  been  gained  in  pleasing 


344  THE  YEMASSEE. 

her  enemy.  She  rushed  to  the  chamber,  and  hurried  forth 
with  a  little  casket,  containing  a  locket,  and  sundry  other 
trifles  commonly  found  in  a  lady's  cabinet.  Her  mother,  in 
the  meanwhile,  having  arranged  her  dress,  hurriedly  came 
forth  also,  provided,  in  like  manner,  with  all  such  jewels  as 
seemed  most  calculated  to  win  the  mercy  which  they  sought. 
They  gave  all  into  his  hands,  and,  possibly,  had  he  been 
alone,  these  concessions  would  have  saved  them, — their  lives 
at  least;  for  these — now  the  spoils  of  the  individual  savage 
to  whom  they  were  given — had  they  been  found  in  the  sack 
of  the  house,  must  have  been  common  stock  with  all  of  them. 
But  the  rest  of  the  band  were  not  disposed  for  mercy  when 
they  beheld  such  an  appropriation  of  their  plunder,  and 
while  they  were  pleading  with  the  savage  for  the  life  of  the 
pastor,  Jshiagaska,  recovered  from  the  blow  which  had  stunned 
him,  entering  the  apartment,  immediately  changed  the  pros- 
pects of  all  the  party.  He  was  inflamed  to  double  ferocity 
by  the  stout  defence  which  had  been  offered  where  he  had 
been  taught  to  anticipate  so  little ;  and,  with  a  fierce  cry,  seiz- 
ing Bess  by  the  long  hair,  which,  from  the  loss  of  her  comb, 
now  streamed  over  her  shoulders,  he  waved  the  tomahawk  in 
air,  bidding  his  men  follow  his  example  and  do  execution 
upon  the  rest.  Another  savage,  with  the  word,  seized  upon 
the  old  lady.  These  sights  re-aroused  the  pastor.  With  a 
desperate  effort  he  threw  the  knee  of  his  enemy  from  his 
breast,  and  was  about  to  rise,  when  the  stroke  of  a  stick  from 
one  of  the  captors  descended  stunningly,  but  not  fatally,  and 
sent  him  once  more  to  the  ground. 

"  Father — father  ! — God  of  mercy — look,  mother  !  they  have 
slain  him — they  have  slain  my  father ! "  and  she  wildly 
struggled  with  her  captor,  but  without  avail.  There  was  but 
a  moment  now,  and  she  saw  the  hatchet  descending.  That 
moment  was  for  prayer,  but  the  terror  was  too  great ;  for  as 
she  beheld  the  whirling  arm  and  the  wave  of  the  glittering 
steel,  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  insensibility  came  to  her  relief, 
while  she  sank  down  under  the  feet  of  the  savage — a  simul- 
taneous movement  of  the  Indians  placing  both  of  he^r  parents 
at  the  same  moment  in  anticipation  of  the  same  awful  destiny 
that  threatened  her. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  345 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

The  blow  was  stayed — the  death,  deemed  inevitable,  was 
averted — the  captives  lived.  The  descending  arm  was  ar- 
rested, the  weapon  thrown  aside,  and  a  voice  of  authority,  at 
the  most  interesting  juncture  in  the  lives  of  the  prisoners, 
interposed  for  their  safety.  The  new  comer  was  Chorley, 
the  captain  of  the  pirate,  heading  his  troop  of  marines,  and 
a  small  additional  force  of  Indians.  He  was  quite  as  much 
rejoiced  as  the  captives,  that  he  came  in  time  for  their  relief. 
It  was  not  his  policy,  in  the  house  of  the  pastor,  to  appear 
the  man  of  blood,  or  to  destroy,  though  mercilessly  destructive 
wherever  he  appeared  before.  There  were  in  the  present 
instance  many  reasons  to  restrain  him.  The  feeling  of  "  auld 
lang  syne"  alone  might  have  had  its  effect  upon  his  mood; 
and,  though  not  sufficiently  potent,  perhaps,  for  purposes  of 
pity  in  a  Ijosom  otherwise  so  pitiless,  yet,  strengthened  by  a 
passion  for  the  person  of  Bess  Matthews,  it  availed  happily 
to  save  the  little  family  of  the  pastor.  Their  safety,  indeed, 
had  been  his  object ;  and  he  had  hurried  towards  their  dwell- 
ing with  the  first  signal  of  war,  as  he  well  knew  the  dangers 
to  which  they  would  be  exposed,  should  he  not  arrive  in 
season,  from  the  indiscriminate  fury  of  the  savages.  But  the 
circuitous  route  which  he  had  been  compelled  to  take,  together 
with  the  difficulties  of  the  forest  to  sailors,  to  whom  a  march 
through  the  tangled  woods  was  something  unusual,  left  him 
considerably  behind  the  party  led  on  by  Ishiagaska.  Arriving 
in  time  to  save,  however,  Chorley  was  not  displeased  that  he 
had  been  delayed  so  long.  There  was  a  merit  in  his  appear- 
ance at  a  moment  so  perilous,  which  promised  him  advantages 
he  had  not  contemplated  before.  He  could  now  urge  a  claim 
to  the  gratitude  of  the  maiden,  for  her  own  and  the  safety 
of  her  parents,  upon  which  he  built  strongly  his  desire  to 
secure  her  person,  if  not  her  heart.  This,  at  least,  under  all 
circumstances,  he  had  certainly  determined  upon. 

He  came  at  the  last  moment,  but  he  came  in  time.    He  was 
well  fitted  for  such  a  moment,  for  he  was  bold  and  decisive. 


346  THE  YEMASSEE. 

With  muscles  of  iron  he  grasped  the  arm  of  the  savage,  and 
thrust  him  back  from  his  more  delicate  victim,  while,  with  a 
voice  of  thunder,  sustained  admirably  by  the  close  proximity 
of  the  muskets  borne  by  the  marines,  he  commanded  the 
savages  to  yield  their  prisoners.  A  spear- thrust  from  one  of 
his  men  enforced  the  command,  which  was  otherwise  disre- 
garded in  the  case  of  the  Indian  bestriding  Mr.  Matthews, 
and  the  old  pastor  stood  once  more  erect.  But  Ishiagaska, 
the  first  surprise  being  over,  was  not  so  disposed  to  yield  his 
captives. 

"  Will  the  white  brother  take  the  scalps  from  Ishiagaska  ? 
Where  was  the  white  brother  when  Ishiagaska  was  here  ?  He 
was  on  the  blind  path  in  the  woods — I  heard  him  cry  like 
the  lost  child  for  the  scouts  of  Ishiagaska.  It  was  Ishiagaska 
who  crept  into  the  wigwam  of  the  white  prophet — look !  The 
white  prophet  can  strike — the  mark  of  his  club  is  on  the  head 
of  a  great  chief — but  not  to  slay.  Ishiagaska  has  won  the 
English — they  are  the  slaves  of  the  Yemassee — he  can  take 
their  scalps — he  can  drink  their  blood — he  can  tear  out  their 
hearts ! " 

"I'll  be  d — d  if  he  does,  though,  while  I  am  here.  Fear 
not,  Matthews,  old  boy — and  you,  my  beauty  bird — have  no 
fear.  You  are  all  safe — he  takes  my  life  before  he  puts  hands 
on  you,  by  Santiago,  as  the  Spaniards  swear.  Hark  ye,  Ishia- 
gaska— do  you  understand  what  I  say  ?  " 

"  The  Yemassee  has  ears  for  his  brother — let  him  speak," 
replied  the  chief,  sullenly. 

"  That  means  that  you  understand  me,  I  suppose — though 
it  doesn't  say  so  exactly.  Well — then — listen.  I'll  take  care 
of  these  prisoners,  and  account  for  them  to  the  Governor  of 
Saint  Augustine." 

"  The  white  prophet  and  the  women  are  for  Ishiagaska. 
Let  our  brother  take  his  own  scalps.  Ishiagaska  strikes  not 
for  the  Spaniard — he  is  a  warrior  of  Yemassee." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  account  to  your  people  for  them,  but 
they  are  my  prisoners  now." 

"  Is  not  Ishiagaska  a  chief  of  the  Yemassee — shall  the 
stranger  speak  for  him  to  his  people  ?  Our  white  brother  is 
like  a  cunning  bird  that  is  lazy.  He  looks  out  from  the  tree 
all  day,  and  when  the  other  bird  catches  the  green  fly,  he 


THE  YEMASSEE.  347 

steals  it  out  of  his  teeth.    Ishiagaska  catches  no  fly  for  the 
teeth  of  the  stranger/' 

«  Well,  as  you  please;  but,  by  G— d,  you  may  give  them  up 
civilly  or  not !  They  are  mine  now,  and  you  may  better  your- 
self as  you  can." 

The  brow  of  the  Indian,  stormy  enough  before,  put  on  new 
terrors,  and  without  a  word  he  rushed  fiercely  at  the  throat 
of  the  sailor,  driving  forward  one  hand  for  that  purpose, 
while  the  other  aimed  a  blow  at  his  head  with  his  hatchet. 
But  the  sailor  was  sufficiently  familiar  with  Indian  warfare, 
as  well  as  with  most  other  kinds ;  he  was  good  at  all  weapons, 
as  we  may  suppose,  and  was  not  unprepared.    He  seemed  to 
have  anticipated  resistance  to  his  authority,  and  was  ready 
for  the  assault.     His  promptness  in  defence  was  quite  equal 
to  the   suddenness   of   the   attack   of    Ishiagaska.     Adroitly 
evading  the  direct  assault,  he  bore  back  the  erring  weapon 
with  a  stroke  that  sent  it  wide  from  the  owner's  hand,  and 
grasping  him  by  the  throat,  waved  him  to  and  fro  as  an  infant 
in  the  grasp  of  a  giant.    The  followers  of  the  chief,  not  dis- 
couraged by|  this  evidence  of  superiority,  or  by  the  greater 
number  of  seamen  with  their  white  ally,  rushed  forward  to 
his  rescue,  and  the  probability  is  that  the  affair  would  have 
been  one  of  mixed  massacre  but  for  the  coolness  of  Chorley. 
"  Men each  his  man  !    Short  work,  as  I  order.    Drop  mus- 
kets, and  close  handsomely." 

The  order  was  obeyed  with  promptitude,  and  the  Indians 
were  belted  in,  as  by  a  hoop  of  iron,  without  room  to  lift  a 
hatchet  or  brandish  a  knife,  while  each  of  the  whites  had 
singled  out  an  enemy,  at  whose  breast  a  pistol  was  presented. 
The  sailor  captain  in  the  meanwhile  appropriated  Ishiagaska 
to  himself,  and  closely  encircled  him  with  one  powerful  arm, 
while  the  muzzle  of  his  pistol  rested  upon  the  Indian's  head. 
But  the  affair  was  suffered  to  proceed  no  further,  in  this  way, 
by  him  who  had  now  the  chief  management.  The  Indians 
were  awed,  and  though  they  still  held  out  a  sullen  attitude  of 
defiance,  Chorley,  whose  desire  was  that  control  of  the  savages 
without  which  he  could  hope  to  do  nothing,  was  satisfied  of 
the  adequacy  of  what  he  had  done  towards  his  object.  Re- 
leasing his  own  captive,  therefore,  with  a  stentorian  laugh, 
he  addressed  Ishiagaska : — 


348  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  That's  the  way.  chief,  to  deal  with  the  enemy.  But  we 
are  no  enemies  of  yours,  and  have  had  fun  enough." 

"  It  is  fun  for  our  white  brother/'  was  the  stern  and  dry 
response. 

"  Ay,  what  else — devilish  good  fun,  I  say — though,  to  be 
sure,  you  did  not  seem  to  think  so.  But  I  suppose  I  am  to 
have  the  prisoners." 

"  If  our  brother  asks  with  his  tongue,  we  say  no — if  he 
asks  with  his  teeth,  we  say  yes." 

"  Well,  I  care  not,  d — n  my  splinters,  Ishy — whether  you 
answer  to  tongue  or  teeth,  so  that  you  answer  as  I  want  you. 
I'm  glad  now  that  you  speak  what  is  reasonable." 

i  Will  our  brother  take  the  white  prophet  and  the  women, 
and  give  nothing  to  the  Yemassee?  The  English  buy  from 
the  Yemassee,  and  the  Yemassee  gets  when  he  gives." 

"  Ay,  I  see — you  have  learned  to  trade,  and  know  how  to 
drive  a  bargain.  But  you  forget,  chief,  you  have  had  all  in 
the  house." 

"  Good — and  the  prisoners — they  are  scalps  for  Ishiagaska. 
But  our  brother  would  have  them  for  himself,  and  will  give 
his  smal]  gun  for  them." 

The  offer  to  exchange  the  captives  for  the  pistol  in  his 
hand,  caused  a  momentary  hesitation  in  the  mind  of  the 
pirate.  He  saw  the  lurking  malignity  in  the  eye  of  the  savage, 
and  gazed  fixedly  upon  him,  then,  suddenly  seeming  to  deter- 
mine, he  exclaimed, — 

"  Well,  it's  a  bargain.  The  captives  are  mine,  and  here's 
the  pistol." 

Scarcely  had  the  weapon  been  placed  in  the  hands  of  the 
wily  savage,  than  he  hastily  thrust  it  at  the  head  of  the  pirate, 
and  crying  aloud  to  his  followers,  who  echoed  it  lustily,  "San- 
garrah-me — Yemassee,"  he  drew  the  trigger.  A  loud  laugh 
from  Chorley  was  all  the  response  that  followed.  He  had 
seen  enough  of  the  Indian  character  to  have  anticipated  the 
result  of  the  exchange  just  made,  and  gave  him  a  pistol 
therefore  which  had  a  little  before  been  discharged.  The 
innocuous  effort  upon  his  life,  accordingly,  had  been  looked 
for;  and  having  made  it,  the  Indian,  whose  pride  of  char- 
acter had  been  deeply  mortified  by  the  indignity  to  which 
the  sport  of  Chorley  had  just  subjected  him,  folded  his  arms 


THE  YEMASSEE.  349 

patiently  as  if  in  waiting  for  his  death.  This  must  have 
followed  but  for  the  ready  and  contemptuous  laugh  of  the 
pirate;  for  his  seamen,  provoked  to  fury  by  the  attempt, 
would  otherwise  undoubtedly  have  cut  them  all  in  pieces. 
The  ready  laugh,  however — so  unlooked-for — so  seemingly 
out  of  place — kept  them  still;  and,  as  much  surprised  as 
the  Indians,  they  remained  as  stationary  also.  A  slap  upon 
the  shoulder  from  the  heavy  hand  of  the  seaman  aroused 
Ishiagaska  with  a  start. 

"  How  now,  my  red  brother — didst  thou  think  I  could  be 
killed  by  such  as  thee  ?  Go  to — thou  art  a  child — a  little  boy. 
The  shot  can't  touch  me — the  sword  can't  cut — the  knife 
can't  stick — I  have  a  charm  from  the  prophet  of  the  Span- 
iards. I  bought  it  and  a  good  wind,  with  a  link  of  this 
blessed  chain,  and  have  had  no  reason  to  repent  my  bargain. 
Those  are  the  priests,  friend  Matthews — now  you  don't  pre- 
tend to  such  a  trade.  What  good  can  your  preaching  do  to 
sailors  or  soldiers,  when  we  can  get  such  bargains  for  so 
little?" 

The  pastor,  employed  hitherto  in  sustaining  the  form  of 
his  still  but  half-conscious  daughter,  had  been  a  silent  spec- 
tator of  this  strange  scene.  But  he  now,  finding  as  long  as  it 
lasted  that  the  nerves  of  Bess  would  continue  unstrung,  seized 
the  opportunity  afforded  by  this  appeal,  to  implore  that  they 
might  be  relieved  of  their  savage  company. 

"  What,  and  you  continue  here  ?"  replied  the  sailor.  "  No, 
no — that's  impossible.  They  would  murder  you  the  moment 
I  am  gone." 

"  What  then  are  we  to  do — where  go — where  find  safety  ?" 

"  You  must  go  with  me — with  my  party  alone  will  you  be 
safe,  and  while  on  shore  you  must  remain  with  us.  After 
that,  my  vessel  will  give  you  shelter." 

"  Never — never — dear  father,  tell  him  no — better  that  we 
should  die  by  the  savage,"  was  the  whispered  and  hurried 
language  of  Bess  to  her  father  as  she  heard  this  suggestion. 
A  portion  of  her  speech,  only,  was  audible  to  the  seaman. 

"  What's  that  you  say,  my  sweet  bird  of  beauty — my  bird 
of  paradise? — Speak  out,  there  is  no  danger." 

"  She  only  speaks  to  me,  captain,"  said  the  pastor,  un- 


350  THE  YEMASSEE. 

willing  that  the  only  protector  they  now  had  should  be 
offended  by  an  indiscreet  remark. 

"  Oh,  father,  that  you  had  listened  to  Gabriel,"  murmured 
the  maiden,  as  she  beheld  the  preparations  making  for  their 
departure  with  the  soldiers. 

"  Reproach  me  not  now,  my  child — my  heart  is  sore  enough 
for  that  error  of  my  spirit.  It  was  a  wicked  pride  that  kept 
me  from  hearing  and  doing  justice  to  that  friendly  youth." 

The  kind  word,  in  reference  to  her  lover,  almost  banished 
all  present  fears  from  the  mind  of  Bess  Matthews ;  and  with 
tears  that  now  relieved  her,  and  which  before  this  she  could 
not  have  shed,  she  buried  her  head  in  the  bosom  of  the  old 
man. 

"We  are  friends  again,  Ishiagaska,"  extending  his  hand 
while  he  spoke,  was  the  address  of  the  seaman  to  the  chief, 
as  the  latter  took  his  departure  from  the  dwelling  on  his 
way  to  the  Block  House.  The  proffered  hand  was  scornfully 
rejected. 

"Is  Ishiagaska  a  dog  that  shall  come  when  you  whistle, 
and  put  his  tail  between  his  legs  when  you  storm?  The 
white  chief  has  put  mud  on  the  head  of  Ishiagaska." 

"Well,  go  and  be  d d,  who  cares?    By  G — d,  but  for 

the  bargain,  and  that  the  fellow  may  be  useful,  I  could  send 
a  bullet  through  his  red  skin  with  appetite." 

A-  few  words  now  addressed  to  his  captives,  sufficed  to 
instruct  them  as  to  the  necessity  of  a  present  movement; 
and  a  few  moments  put  them  in  as  great  a  state  of  readi- 
ness for  their  departure  as,  under  such  circumstances,  they 
could  be  expected  to  make.  The  sailor,  in  the  meantime, 
gave  due  directions  to  his  followers;  and,  picking  up  the 
pistol  which  the  indignant  Ishiagaska  had  thrown  away,  he 
contented  himself,  while  reloading  it,  with  another  bois- 
terous laugh  at  the  expense  of  the  savage.  Giving  the  neces- 
sary orders  to  his  men,  he  approached  the  group,  and  ten- 
dered his  assistance,  especially  to  Bess  Matthews.  But  she 
shrank  back  with  an  appearance  of  horror,  not  surely  justi- 
fiable, if  reference  is  to  be  had  only  to  his  agency  on  the 
present  occasion.  But  the  instinctive  delicacy  of  maidenly 
feeling  had  been  more  than  once  outraged  in  her  bosom  by 
the  bold,  licentious  glance  which  Chorley  had  so  frequently 


THE  YEMASSEE.  351 

cast  upon  her  charms;  and  now,  heightened  as  they  were  by 
circumstances — by  the  dishevelled  hair,  and  ill-adjusted  gar- 
ments— the  daring  look  of  his  eye  was  enough  to  offend  a 
spirit  so  delicately  just,  so  sensitive,  and  so  susceptible  as 
hers. 

"  What,  too  much  of  a  lady — too  proud,  miss,  to  take  the 
arm  of  a  sailor  ?  Is  it  so,  parson  ?  Have  you  taught  so  much 
pride  to  your  daughter  ?" 

"  It  is  not  pride,  Master  Chorley,  you  should  know — but 
Bess  has  not  well  got  over  her  fright,  and  it's  but  natural 
that  she  should  look  to  her  father  first  for  protection.  It's 
not  pride,  not  dislike,  believe  me/'  was  the  anxiously-spoken 
reply. 

"  But  there's  no  sense  in  that  now — for  what  sort  of  pro- 
tection could  you  have  afforded  her  if  I  hadn't  come?  You'd 
ha'  been  all  scalped  to  death,  or  there's  no  fish  in  the  sea!" 

"  You  say  true,  indeed.  Master  Chorley.  Our  only  hope 
was  in  God,  who  is  above  all, — to  him  we  look — he  will  always 
find  a  protector  for  the  innocent." 

"  And  not  much  from  him  either,  friend  Matthews — for  all 
your  prayers  would  have  done  you  little  good  under  the  knife 
of  the  red-skins,  if  I  had  not  come  at  the  very  moment."^ 

"  True — and  you  see.  captain,  that  God  did  send  us  help 
at  the  last  trying  moment." 

"  Why,  that's  more  than  my  mother  ever  said  for  me,  par- 
son— and  more  than  I  can  ever  say  for  myself.  What,  Dick 
Chorley  the  messenger  of  God  ! — Ha  !  ha !  ha  ! — The  old  folks 
would  say  the  devil  rather,  whose  messenger  I  have  been 
from  stem  to  stern,  man  and  boy,  a  matter  now — but  it's 
quite  too  far  to  go  back." 

"  Do  not,  I  pray,  Master  Chorley,"  said  the  old  man, 
gravely, —  "  and  know,  that  Satan  himself  is  God's  mes- 
senger, and  must  do  his  bidding  in  spite  of  his  own  will." 

"  The  dense,  you  say.  Old  Xick,  himself,  God's  mes- 
senger! Well,  that's  new  to  me,  and  what  the  Catechism 
and  old  Meg  never  once  taught  me  to  believe.  But  I  won't 
doubt  you,  for,  as  it's  your  trade,  you  ought  to  know  best, 
and  we'll  have  no  more  talk  on  the  subject.  Come,  old  boy — 
my  good  Mrs.  Matthews,  and  you,  my  sweet — all  ready  ?  Fall 
in,  boys — be  moving." 


352  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  Where  go  we  now,  Master  Chorley  ?  "  inquired  the  pastor. 

"  With  me,  friend  Matthews,"  was  the  simple  and  rather 
stern  reply  of  the  pirate,  who  arranged  his  troop  around  the 
little  party,  and  gave  orders  to  move.  He  would  have  taken 
his  place  alongside  of  the  maiden,  but  she  studiously  passed 
to  the  opposite  arm  of  her  father,  so  as  to  throw  the  pastor's 
person  between  them.  In  this  manner  the  party  moved  on, 
in  the  direction  of  the  Block  House,  which  the  cupidity  of 
Chorley  hoped  to  find  unguarded,  and  to  which  he  hurried, 
with  as  much  rapidity  as  possible,  in  order  to  be  present 
at  the  sack.  He  felt  that  it  must  be  full  of  the  valuables 
of  all  those  who  had  sought  its  shelter,  and  with  this  desire 
he  did  not  scruple  to  compel  the  captives  to  keep  pace  with 
his  party,  as  it  was  necessary,  before  proceeding  to  the  assault, 
that  he  should  place  them  in  a  condition  of  comparative  safety. 
A  small  cottage  lay  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  a  few  miles 
from  his  vessel,  and  in  sight  of  it.  It  was  a  rude  frame  of 
poles,  covered  with  pine  bark;  such  as  the  Indian  hunters 
leave  behind  them  all  over  the  country.  To  this  spot  he 
hurried,  and  there,  under  the  charge  of  three  marines,  well 
armed,  he  left  the  jaded  family,  dreading  every  change  of 
condition  as  full  of  death,  if  not  of  other  terrors  even  worse 
than  death — and  with  scarcely  a  smaller  apprehension  of  that 
condition  itself.  Having  so  done,  he  went  onward  to  the  work 
of  destruction,  where  we  shall  again  come  up  with  him. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  353 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

The  inmates  of  the  Block  House,  as  we  remember,  had 
been  warned  by  Hector  of  the  probable  approach  of  danger, 
and  preparation  was  the  word  in  consequence.  But  what  was 
the  preparation  meant?  Under  no  distinct  command,  every 
one  had  his  own  favourite  idea  of  defence,  and  all  was  con- 
fusion in  their  councils.  The  absence  of  Harrison,  to  whose 
direction  all  parties  would  most  willingly  have  turned  their 
ears,  was  now  of  the  most  injurious  tendency,  as  it  left  them 
unprovided  with  any  head,  and  just  at  the  moment  when  a 
high  degree  of  excitement  prevailed  against  the  choice  of  any 
substitute.  Great  bustle  and  little  execution  took  the  place  of 
good  order,  calm  opinion,  deliberate  and  decided  action.  The 
men  were  ready  enough  to  fight,  and  this  readiness  was  an 
evil  of  itself,  circumstanced  as  they  were.  To  fight  would 
have  been  madness  then — to  protract  the  issue  and  gain  time 
was  the  object;  and  few.  among  the  defenders  of  the  fortress, 
at  that  moment,  were  sufficiently  collected  to  see  this  truth. 
In  reason,  there  was  really  but  a  single  spirit  in  the  Block 
House,  sufficiently  deliberate  for  the  occasion.  That  spirit 
was  a  woman's — the  wife  of  Granger.  She  had  been  the  child 
of  poverty  and  privation — the  severe  school  of  that  best 
tutor,  necessity,  had  made  her  equable  in  mind  and  intrepid 
in  spirit.  She  had  looked  suffering  so  long  in  the  face,  that 
she  now  regarded  it  without  a  tear.  Her  parents  had  never 
been  known  to  her,  and  the  most  trying  difficulties  clung 
to  her  from  infancy  up  to  womanhood.  So  exercised,  her 
mind  grew  strong  in  proportion  to  its  trials,  and  she  had 
learned,  in  the  end,  to  regard  them  with  a  degree  of  fear- 
lessness far  beyond  the  capacities  of  any  well-bred  heir  of 
prosperity  and  favouring  fortune.  The  same  trials  attended 
her  after  marriage — since  the  pursuits  of  her  husband  car- 
ried her  into  dangers,  to  which  even  he  could  oppose  far  less 
ability  than  his  wife.  Her  genius  soared  infinitely  beyond 
his  own,  and  to  her  teachings  was  he  indebted  for  many  of 
those  successes  which  brought  him  wealth  in  after  years. 


354  THE  YEMASSEE. 

She  counselled  his  enterprises,  prompted  or  persuaded  his 
proceedings,  managed  for  him  wisely  and  economically;  in 
all  respects,  proved  herself  unselfish;  and,  if  she  did  not  at 
any  time  appear  above  the  way  of  life  they  had  adopted, 
she  took  care  to  maintain  both  of  them  from  falling  be- 
neath it — a  result  too  often  following  the  exclusive  pursuit 
of  gain.  Her  experience  throughout  life,  hitherto,  served 
her  admirably  now,  when  all  was  confusion  among  the  coun- 
cils of  the  men.  She  descended  to  the  court  below,  where 
they  made  a  show  of  deliberation,  and,  in  her  own  manner, 
with  a  just  knowledge  of  human  nature,  proceeded  to  give 
her  aid  in  their  general  progress.  Knowing  that  any  direct 
suggestion  from  a  woman,  and  under  circumstances  of  strife 
and  trial,  would  necessarily  offend  the  amour  pro  pre*  of  the 
nobler  animal,  and  provoke  his  derision,  she  pursued  a  sort 
of  management  which  an  experienced  woman  is  usually  found 
to  employ  as  a  kind  of  familiar — a  wily  little  demon,  that 
goes  unseen  at  her  bidding,  and  does  her  business,  like 
another  Ariel,f  the  world  all  the  while  knowing  nothing 
about  it.  Calling  out  from  the  crowd  one  of  those  whom  she 
knew  to  be  not  only  the  most  collected,  but  the  one  least 
annoyed  by  any  unnecessary  self-esteem,  she  was  in  a  moment 
joined  by  Wat  Grayson,  and  leading  him  aside,  she  proceeded 
to  suggest  various  measures  of  preparation  and  defence,  cer- 
tainly the  most  prudent  that  had  yet  been  made.  This  she 
did  with  so  much  unobtrusive  modesty,  that  the  worthy  wood- 
man took  it  for  granted,  all  the  while,  that  the  ideas  were 
properly  his  own.  She  concluded  with  insisting  upon  his 
taking  the  command. 

"  But  Xichols  will  have  it  all  to  himself.  That's  one  of 
our  difficulties  now/' 

"What  of  that?  You  may  easily  manage  him,  Master 
Gravson." 

"How?"  he  asked. 

"The  greater  number  of  the  men  here  are  of  the  i  Green 
Jackets?'" 

«  Yes—" 

*  Self-love;   vanity. 

f  In  which  one  of  Shakspere's  plays  does  Ariel  appear  as  a 
character? 


THE  YEMASSEE.  355 

"  And  you  are  their  lieutenant — next  in  command  to  Cap- 
tain Harrison,  and  their  first  officer  in  his  absence  ?" 

"  That's  true." 

"  Command  them  as  your  troop  exclusively,  and  don't 
mind  the  rest/*' 

"  But  they  will  be  offended." 

"And  if  they  are,  Master  Grayson,  is  this  a  time  to  heed 
their  folly  when  the  enemy's  upon  us  ?  Let  them.  You  do 
with  your  troop  without  heed  to  them,  and  they  will  fall 
into  your  ranks — they  will  work  with  you  when  the  time 
comes." 

"  You  are  right,"  was  the  reply ;  and  immediately  going 
forward  with  a  voice  of  authority,  Grayson,  calling  only  the 
"  Green  Jackets  "  around  him,  proceeded  to  organize  them, 
and  put  himself  in  command,  as  first  lieutenant  of  the  only 
volunteer  corps  which  the  parish  knew.  The  corps  received 
the  annunciation  with  a  shout,  and  the  majority  readily  rec- 
ognized him.  Nichols,  alone,  grumbled  a  little,  but  the 
minority  was  too  small  to  offer  any  obstruction  to  Grayson's 
authority,  so  that  he  soon  submitted  with  the  rest.  The 
command,  all  circumstances  considered,  was  not  improperly 
given.  Grayson,  though  not  overwise.  was  decisive  in  action; 
and,  in  matters  of  strife,  wisdom  itself  must  be  subservient 
to  resolution.  Resolution  in  trial  is  wisdom.  The  new  com- 
mander numbered  his  force,  placed  the  feeble  and  the  young 
in  the  least  trying  situations,  assigned  different  bodies  to  dif- 
ferent stations,  and  sent  the  women  and  children  into  the 
upper  and  most  sheltered  apartment.  In  a  few  moments, 
things  were  arranged  for  the  approaching  conflict  with  tol- 
erable precision. 

The  force  thus  commanded  by  Grayson  was  small  enough; 
the  whole  number  of  men  in  the  Block  House  not  exceeding 
twenty-five.  The  women  and  children  within  its  shelter  were 
probably  twice  that  number.  The  population  had  been  as- 
sembled in  great  part  from  the  entire  extent  of  country 
lying  between  the  Block  House  and  the  Indian  settlements. 
From  the  Block  House  downward  to  Port  Eoyal  Island,  there 
had  been  no  gathering  to  this  point;  the  settlers  in  that  sec- 
tion, necessarily,  in  the  event  of  a  like  difficulty,  seeking  a 
retreat  to  the  fort   on  the  island,   which  had  its   garrison 


356  THE  YEMASSEE. 

already,  and  was  more  secure,  and  in  another  respect  much 
more  safe,  as  it  lay  more  contiguous  to  the  sea.  The  greater 
portion  of  the  country  immediately  endangered  from  the  Yem- 
assees,  had  been  duly  warned,  and  none  but  the  slow,  the 
indifferent,  and  the  obstinate,  but  had  taken  sufficient  heed  of 
the  many  warnings  given  them,  and  put  themselves  in  safety. 
Numbers,  however,  coming  under  one  or  other  of  these 
classes,  had  fallen  victims  to  their  folly  or  temerity  in  the 
sudden  onslaught  which  followed  the  first  movement  of  the 
savages  among  them,  who,  scattering  themselves  over  the 
country,  had  made  their  attack  so  nearly  at  the  same  time, 
as  to  defeat  any  thing  like  unity  of  action  in  the  resistance 
which  might  have  been  offered  them. 

Grayson's  first  care  in  his  new  command  was  to  get  the 
women  and  children  fairly  out  of  the  way.  The  close  upper 
apartment  of  the  Block  House  had  been  especially  assigned 
them;  and  there  they  had  assembled  generally.  But  some 
few  of  the  old  ladies  were  not  to  be  shut  up;  and  his  own 
good  Puritan  mother  gave  the  busy  commandant  no  little 
trouble.  She  went  to  and  fro,  interfering  in  this,  preventing 
that,  and  altogether  annoying  the  men  to  such  a  degree,  that 
it  became  absolutely  necessary  to  put  on  a  show  of  sternness 
which,  in  a  moment  of  less  real  danger  and  anxiety,  would 
have  been  studiously  forborne.  With  some  difficulty  and  the 
assistance  of  Granger's  wife,  he  at  length  got  her  out  of  the 
way,  and  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  all  parties,  she  wor- 
ried herself  to  sleep  in  the  midst  of  a  Psalm,  which  she  croned 
over  to  the  dreariest  tune  in  her  whole  collection.  Sleep  had 
also  fortunately  seized  upon  the  children  generally,  and  but 
few,  in  the  room  assigned  to  the  women,  were  able  to  with- 
stand the  approaches  of  that  subtle  magician.  The  wife  of 
the  trader,  almost  alone,  continued  watchful;  thoughtful  in 
emergency,  and  with  a  ready  degree  of  common  sense,  to 
contend  with  trial,  and  to  prepare  against  it.  The  confused 
cluster  of  sleeping  forms,  in  all  positions,  and  of  all  sorts 
and  sizes,  that  hour,  in  the  apartment  so  occupied,  was  gro- 
tesque enough.  One  figure  alone,  sitting  in  the  midst,  and 
musing  with  a  concentrated  mind,  gave  dignity  to  the  ludi- 
crous grouping — the  majestic  figure  of  Mary  Granger — her 
dark  eye  fixed  upon  the  silent  and  sleeping  collection,  in 


THE  YEMASSEE.  357 

doubt  and  pity — her  black  hair  bound  closely  upon  her  head, 
and  her  broad  forehead  seeming  to  enlarge  and  grow  with 
the  busy  thought  at  work  within  it.  Her  hand,  too — strange 
association — rested  upon  a  hatchet. 

Having  completed  his  arrangements  with  respect  to  the 
security  of  the  women  and  children,  and  put  them  fairly  out 
of  his  way,  Grayson  proceeded  to  call  a  sort  of  council  of 
war  for  further  deliberation;  and  having  put  sentinels  along 
the  picket,  and  at  different  points  of  the  building,  the  more 
"  sage,  grave  men  "  of  the  garrison  proceeded  to  their  further 
arrangements.     These  were  four  in  number.     One  of  them 
was  Dick  Grimstead,  the  blacksmith,  who,  in  addition  to  a 
little  farming  (carried  on  when  the  humour  took  him)   did 
the  horse-shoeing  and  ironwork  for  his  neighbours  of  ten  miles 
round,  and  was  in  no  small  repute  among  them.     He  was 
something   of   a   woodman  too;   and  hunting,   and  perhaps 
drinking,  occupied  no  small  portion  of  the  time  which  might, 
with  more  profit  to  himself,  have  been  given  to  his  farm  and 
smithy.      Nichols,    the    rival    leader    of    Grayson,   was    also 
chosen,  with  the  view  rather  to  his  pacification  than  with  any 
hope  of  good  counsel  to  be  got  out  of  him.   Granger,  the  trader, 
made  the  third;  and  presiding  somewhat  as  chairman,  Gray- 
son the  fourth.    We  may  add  that  the  wife  of  the  trader,  who 
had  descended  to  the  Tower  apartment  in  the  meantime,  and 
had  contrived  to  busy  [herself]  in  one  corner  with  some  of  the 
wares  of  her  husband,  was  present  throughout  the  debate. 
We  may  add,  too,  that,  at  frequent  periods  of  the  deliberation. 

Granger  found  it  necessary  to  leave  the  consultations  of  the 

council  for  that  of  his  wife. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  ?"  was  the  general  question. 

'•'  Let  us  send  out  a  spy,  and  see  what  they  are  about,"  was 

the  speech  of  one. 

"  Let  us  discharge  a  few  pieces,  to  let  them  know  that  a 

free  people  are  always  ready  for  the  enemy,"  was  the  sage 

advice  of  Xichols,  who,  though  a  doctor,  was  a  demagogue 

also;  the  breed  being   known   at   a  very  early   day   in  our 

historv. 

«  x'o,  d—  n  'em,"  said  the  burly  blacksmith,  "  don't  waste, 

after  that  fashion,  the  powder  for  which  a  buck  would  say 


358  THE  YEMASSEE. 

thank  you.    If  we  are  to  shoot,  let's  put  it  to  the  red-skins 
themselves.     What  do  you  say,  Master  Grayson  ?  " 

"  I  say,  keep  quiet,  and  make  ready." 

"Wouldn't  a  spy  be  of  service?"  suggested  Granger,  with 
great  humility,  recurring  to  his  first  proposition. 

"  Will  you  go  ?"  was  the  blunt  speech  of  the  blacksmith. 

"  I  don't  see  any  good  a  spy  can  do  us." 

"  To  see  into  their  force." 

"  That  won't  strengthen  ours.  No !  I  hold,  Wat  Gray- 
son, to  my  mind.  We  must  give  the  dogs  powder  and  shot 
when  we  see  'em.  There's  no  other  way — for  here  we  are, 
and  there  they  are.  They're  for  fight,  and  will  have  our 
scalps,  if  we  are  not  for  fight  too.  We  can't  run,  for  there's 
no  place  to  go  to ;  and  besides  that,  I'm  not  used  to  running, 
and  won't  try  to  run  from  a  red-skin.  He  shall  chaw  my 
bullet  first." 

"  To  be  sure,"  roared  Nichols,  growing  remarkably  valor- 
ous.    "  Battle,  say  I.     Victory  or  death." 

"  Well,  Nichols,  don't  waste  your  breath  now — you  may 
want  it  before  all's  over — "  growled  the  smith,  with  a  most 
imperturbable  comjDosure  of  countenance, — "  if  it's  only  to 
beg  quarter." 

"  I  beg  quarter — never !"  cried  the  doctor,  fiercely. 

"  It's  agreed,  then,  that  we  are  to  fight — is  that  what  we 
are  to  understand?"  inquired  Grayson,  desirous  to  bring  the 
debate  to  a  close,  and  to  hush  the  little  acerbities  going  on 
between  the  doctor  and  the  smith. 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure — what  else  ?"  said  Grimstead. 

"What  say  you,  Granger?" 

"  I  say  so  too,  sir — if  they  attack  us — surelv." 

"And  you,  Nichols?" 

"  Ay,  fight,  I  say.  Battle  to  the  last  drop  of  blood — to  the 
last  moment  of  existence.    Victory  or  death  !  that's  my  word." 

"  Blast  me,  Nichols — what  a  bellows,"  shouted  the  smith. 

"  Mind  your  own  bellows,  Grimstead — it  will  be  the  better 
for  you.  Don't  trouble  yourself  to  meddle  with  mine — you 
may  burn  your  fingers,"  retorted  the  demagogue,  angrily. 

"  Wiry,  yes,  if  your  breath  holds  hot  long  enough,"  was 
the  sneering  response  of  the  smith,  who  seemed  to  enjoy  the 
sport  of  teasing  his  windy  comrade. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  .  "359 

"Come,  come,  men,  no  words,"  soothingly  said  the  com- 
mander. "Let  us  look  to  the  enemy.  You  are  all  agreed 
that  we  are  to  fight ;  and,  to  say  truth,  we  didn't  want  much 
thinking  for  that;  but  how,  is  the  question— how  are  we  to 
do  the  fighting  ?  Can  we  send  out  a  party  for  scouts — can  we 
spare  the  men?" 

"  I  think  not,"  said  the  smith,  soberly.  "  It  will  require 
all  the  men  we  have,  and  some  of  the  women  too,  to  keep 
watch  at  all  the  loop-holes.  Besides,  we  have  not  arms 
enough,  have  we?" 

"Xot  muskets,  but  other  arms  in  abundance.  What  say 
you,  Nichols — can  we  send  out  scouts?" 

"Impossible!  we  cannot  spare  them,  and  it  will  only  ex- 
pose them  to  be  cut  up  by  a  superior  enemy.  Xo,  sir,  it  will 
be  the  nobler  spectacle  to  perish,  like  men,  breast  to  breast. 
I,  for  one,  am  willing  to  die  for  the  people.  I  will  not  sur- 
vive my  countrv." 

"  Brave  man !"  cried  the  smith—"  but  I'm  not  willing  to 
die  at  all,  and  therefore  I  would  keep  snug  and  stand  'em 
here.  I  can't  skulk  in  the  bush;  like  Granger ;  I'm  quite  too 
fat  for  that.  Though,  I'm  sure,  if  I  were  such  a  skeleton 
sort  of  fellow  as  Xichols  there,  I'd  volunteer  as  a  scout,  and 
stand  the  Indian  arrows  all  day." 

"  I  won't  volunteer,"  cried  Xichols,  hastily.  "  It  will  set 
a  bad  example,  and  my  absence  might  be  fatal." 

"But  what  if  all  volunteer?"  inquired  the  smith,  scorn- 
fully. 

"I  stand  or  fall  with  the  people,"  responded  the  dema- 
gogue, proudly.  At  that  moment,  a,  shrill  scream  of  the 
whip-poor-wilf  smote  upon  the  senses  of  the  council. 

"  It  is  the  Indians— that  is  a  favourite  cry  of  the  Yem- 
assees,"  said  the  wife  of  Granger.  The  company  started  to 
their  feet,  and  seized  their  weapons.  As  they  were  about  to 
descend  to  the  lower  story,  the  woman  seized  upon  the  arm 
of  Gravson,  and  craved  his  attendance  in  the  adjoining  apart- 
ment. "  He  followed ;  and  leading  him  to  the  only  window  m 
the  room,  without  disturbing  any  around  her,  she  pointed  out 
a  fallen  pine-tree,  evidently  thrown  down  within  the  night, 
which  barelv  rested  upon  the  side  of  the  log  house,  with  all 
its  branches,  and  but  a  few  feet  below  the  aperture  through 


360  THE  YEMASSEE. 

which  they  looked.  The  tree  must  have  been  cut  previously, 
and  so  contrived  as  to  fall  gradually  upon  the  dwelling.  It 
was  a  small  one,  and  by  resting  in  its  descent  upon  other  in- 
tervening trees,  its  approach  and  contact  with  the  dwelling 
had  been  unheard.  This  had  probably  taken  place  while  the 
garrison  had  been  squabbling  below,  with  all  the  women  and 
children  listening  and  looking  on.  The  apartment  in  which 
they  stood,  and  against  which  the  tree  now  depended,  had 
been  made,  for  greater  security,  without  any  loop-holes,  the 
musketry  being  calculated  for  use  in  that  adjoining  and 
below.  The  danger  arising  from  this  new  situation  was  per- 
ceptible at  a  glance. 

"  The  window  must  be  defended.  Two  stout  men  will 
answer.     But  they  must  have  muskets/'  spoke  the  woman. 

"  They  shall  have  them,"  said  Grayson,  in  reply  to  the 
fearless  and  thoughtful  person  who  spoke.  "  I  will  send 
Mason  and  your  husband." 

"  Do — I  will  keep  it  till  they  come." 

"  You  ?"  with  some  surprise,  inquired  Grayson. 

"  Yes,  Master  Grayson — is  there  anything  strange  in  that  ? 
I  have  no  fears.    Go — send  your  men." 

"  But  you  will  close  the  shutter." 

"No — better,  if  they  should  come — better  it  should  be 
open.  If  shut,  we  might  be  too  apt  to  rest  satisfied.  Ex* 
posure  compels  watchfulness,  and  men  make  the  best  fort- 
resses." 

Eull  of  his  new  command,  and  sufficiently  impressed  with 
its  importance,  Grayson  descended  to  the  arrangement  of  his 
forces;  and,  true  to  his  promise,  despatched  Granger  and 
Mason  with  muskets  to  the  defence  of  the  window,  as  had 
been  agreed  upon  with  the  wife  of  the  trader.  They  pre- 
pared to  go  up;  but,  to  their  great  consternation,  Mason, 
who  was  a  bulky  man,  had  scarcely  reached  midway  up  the 
ladder  leading  to  the  apartment,  when,  snapping  off  in  the 
middle,  down  it  came;  in  its  destruction,  breaking  off  all 
communication  between  the  upper  and  lower  stories  of  the 
house  until  it  could  be  repaired.  To  furnish  a  substitute  was 
a  difficult  task,  about  which  several  of  the  men  were  set  im- 


THE  YEMASSEE.  361 

mediately.  This  accident  deeply  impressed  the  wife  of  the 
trader,  even  more  than  it  did  the  defenders  of  the  house 
below  with  the  dangers  of  their  situation;  and,  in  much 
anxiety,  watchful  and  sad,  she  paced  the  room  m  which  they 
were  now  virtually  confined,  in  momentary  expectation  of  the 
enemy. 


3ff*3  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

Hugh  Grayson,  with  all  his  faults,  and  they  were  many, 
was  in  reality  a  noble  fellow.  Full  of  a  high  ambition — a 
craving  for  the  unknown  and  the  vast,  which  spread  itself 
vaguely  and  perhaps  unattainably  before  his  imagination — 
his  disappointments  very  naturally  vexed  him  somewhat  be- 
yond prudence,  and  now  and  then  beyond  the  restraint 
of  right  reason.  He  usually  came  to  a  knowledge  of  his 
error  before  it  had  led  too  far,  and  his  repentance  then 
was  not  less  ready  than  his  wrong.  So  in  the  present 
instance.  The  stern  severity  of  those  rebukes  which  had 
fallen  from  the  lips  of  Bess  Matthews,  had  the  effect  upon 
him  which  she  had  anticipated.  They  brought  out  the 
serious  determination  of  his  manhood,  and,  with  due  effort, 
he  discarded  those  feeble  and  querulous  fancies  which  had 
been  productive  of  so  much  annoyance  to  her  and  others, 
and  so  much  unhappiness  to  himself.  He  strove  to  forget 
the  feelings  of  the  jealous  and  disappointed  lover,  in  the 
lately  recollected  duties  of  the  man  and  citizen. 

With  the  good  steed  of  Harrison,  which,  in  the  present 
service,  he  did  not  scruple  to  employ,  he  set  off  on  the  lower 
route,  in  order  to  beat  up  recruits  for  the  perilous  strife 
which  he  now  began  to  believe,  the  more  he  thought  of  it, 
was  in  reality  at  hand.  The  foresters  were  ready;  for  one 
condition  of  security  in  border  life  was  the  willingness  to 
volunteer  in  defence  of  one  another;  and  a  five  mile  ride 
gave  him  as  many  followers.  But  his  farther  progress  was 
stopped  short  by  an  unlooked-for  circumstance.  The  tread 
of  a  body  of  horse  reached  the  ears  of  his  party,  and  they 
slunk  into  cover.  Indistinctly,  in  the  imperfect  light,  they 
discovered  a  mounted  force  of  twenty  or  thirty  men.  Another 
survey  made  them  out  to  be  friends. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?"  cried  the-  leader,  as  Grayson  emerged 
from  the  bush. 

"  Friends — well  met.    There  is  still  time/'  was  the  reply. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  363 

"  I  hope  so — I  have  pushed  for  it,"  said  the  commander, 
"  as  soon  as  Sir  Edmund  gave  the  orders." 

"  Ha !  you  were  advised  then  of  this,  and  come  from" — — 

"  Beaufort,"  cried  the  officer,  "with  a  detachment  of 
twenty-eight  for  the  upper  Block  House.    Is  all  well  there?" 

"  Ay,  when  I  left,  but  things  are  thought  to  look  squally, 
and  I  have  just  been  beating  up  volunteers  for  preparation." 

"'Tis  well — fall  in,  gentlemen,  and  good  speed — but  this 
cursed  road  is  continually  throwing  me  out.  "Will  you  un- 
dertake to  guide  us,  so  that  no  time  may  be  lost?" 

"  Ay — follow — we  are  now  seven  miles  from  the  Block, 
and  I  am  as  familiar  with  the  road,  dark  and  light,  as  with 
my  own  hands." 

"  Away  then,  men — away" — and,  led  by  the  younger  Gray- 
son, now  fully  aroused  by  the  spirit  of  the  scene,  they  hurried 
away  at  full  speed  through  the  narrow  trace  leading  to  the 
Block  House.  They  had  ridden  something  like  two-thirds 
of  the  distance,  when  a  distant  shot,  then  a  shout,  reached 
their  ears,  and  compelled  a  pause  for  counsel,  in  order  to 
avoid  rushing  into  ambuscade. 

"  A  mile  farther,"  cried  Grayson — "  a  mile  farther,  and 
we  must  hide  our  horses  in  the  woods,  and  take  the  bush  on 
foot.  Horse  won't  do  here;  we  shall  make  too  good  a  mark; 
and  besides,  riding  ourselves,  we  should  not  be  able  to  hear 
the  approach  of  an  enemy." 

A  few  moments  after  and  they  descended,  each  fastening 
his  horse  to  a  tree  in  the  shelter  of  a  little  bay ;  and  hurriedly 
organizing  under  Grayson's  direction,  they  proceeded,  alive 
with  expectation,  in  the  direction  of  the  fray. 

It  is  high  time  that  we  now  return  to  our  fugitive,  whose 
escape  from  his  Indian  prison  has  already  been  recorded. 
Paddling  his  canoe  with  difficulty,  Harrison  drew  a  long 
breath  as  it  struck  the  opposite  bank  in  safety.  He  had 
escaped  one  danger,  but  how  many  more,  equally  serious, 
had  he  not  reason  to  anticipate  in  his  farther  progress.  He 
knew  too  well  the  character  of  Indian  warfare,  and  the  mode 
of  assault  proposed  by  them  at  present,  not  to  feel  that  all 
the  woods  around  him  were  alive  with  his  enemies ;  that  they 
i;«n  along  in  the  shadow  of  the  thicket,  and  lay  in  waiting, 
lor  the  steps  of  the  flyer,  alongside  of  the  fallen  tree.     He 


364  THE  YEMASSEE. 

knew  his  danger,  but  he  had  a  soul  well  calculated  for  its 
trials. 

He  leapt  ashore,  and,  at  the  very  first  step  which  he  took, 
a  bright  column  of  flame  rose  above  the  forests  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Graysons'  cottage.  It  lay  not  directly  in  his 
path,  but  it  reminded  him  of  his  duties,  and  he  came  to  all 
the  full  decision  marking  his  character,  as  he  pushed  forward 
in  that  quarter.  He  was  not  long  in  reaching  it,  and  the 
prospect  realized  many  of  his  fears.  The  Indians  had  left 
their  traces,  and  the  dwelling  was  wrapped  in  flame,  illumi- 
nating with  a  deep  glare  the  surrounding  foliage.  He  looked 
for  other  signs  of  their  progress,  but  in  vain.  There  was  no 
blood,  no  mark  of  struggle,  and  his  conclusion  was,  therefore, 
that  the  family  had  been  able  to  effect  its  escape  from  the 
dwelling  before  the  arrival  of  the  enemy.  This  conviction 
was  instantaneous,  and  he  gave  no  idle  time  in  surveying  a 
scene  which  was  only  full  of  a  terrible  warning.  The  thought 
of  the  whole  frontier,  and  more  than  all,  to  his  heart,  the 
thought  of  Bess  Matthews,  and  of  the  obstinate  old  father, 
drove  him  onward — the  blazing  ruins  lighting  his  way  some 
distance  through  the  woods.  The  rush  of  the  wind,  as  he 
went  forward,  brought  to  his  ears,  at  each  moment,  and  in 
various  quarters,  the  whoops  of  the  savages,  reduced  to  faint- 
ness  by  distance  or  cross  currents  of  the  breeze,  that  came 
here  and  there,  through  dense  clusters  of  foliage.  Now  on 
one  side  and  now  on  the  other,  the  sounds  smote  his  ears, 
compelling  him  capriciously  to  veer  from  point  to  point  in 
the  hope  of  avoiding  the  danger.  He  had  not  gone  far  when 
a  second  and  sudden  volume  of  fire  rushed  up  above  the  trees 
only  a  little  distance  from  him  on  the  left,  and  he  could  hear 
the  crackling  of  the  timber.  Almost  at  the  same  instant,  in 
an  opposite  direction,  another  burst  of  flame  attested  the 
mode  of  warfare  adopted  by  the  cunning  savages,  who,  break- 
ing into  small  parties  of  five  or  six  in  number,  thus  dispersed 
themselves  over  the  country,  making  their  attacks  simul- 
taneous. This  was  the  mode  of  assault  best  adapted  to  their 
enterprise;  and,  but  for  the  precautions  taken  in  warning 
the  more  remote  of  the  borderers  to  the  protection  of  the 
Block  House,  their  irruption,  throughout  its  whole  progress, 
would  have  been  marked  in  blood.     But  few  of  the  settlers 


THE  YEMASSEE.  365 

could  possibly  have  escaped  their  knives.  Defrauded,  how- 
ever, of  their  prey,  the  Indians  were  thus  compelled  to  wreak 
their  fury  upon  the  unoccupied  dwellings. 

Dreading  to  make  new  and  more  painful  discoveries,  but 
with  a  spirit  nerved  for  any  event,  Harrison  kept  on  his 
course  with  unrelaxing  effort,  till  he  came  to  the  dwelling 
of  an  old  German,  an  honest  but  poor  settler,  named  Van 
Holten.  The  old  man  lay  on  his  threshold  insensible.  His 
face  was  prone  to  the  ground,  and  he  was  partially  stripped 
of  his  clothing.  Harrison  turned  him  over,  and  discovered 
a  deep  wound  upon  his  breast,  made  seemingly  with  a  knife — 
a  hatchet  stroke  appeared  upon  his  forehead,  and  the  scalp 
was  gone — a  red  and  dreadfully  lacerated  skull  presented 
itself  to  his  sight,  and  marked  another  of  those  features  of 
war  so  terribly  peculiar  to  the  American  border  struggles. 
The  man  was  quite  dead;  but  the  brand  thrown  into  his 
cabin  had  failed,  and  the  dwelling  was  unhurt  by  the  fire. 
Harrison  could  bestow  no  time  in  mere  regrets  and  sympa- 
thies, but  hurried  away,  under  increased  anxieties,  and  roused 
to  new  exertions  and  efforts  by  a  spectacle  that  made  him 
tremble  momently  with  the  fear  of  new  discoveries  of  the 
same  sort.  The  cries  of  the  savages  grew  more  distinct  as  he 
proceeded,  and  his  caution  was  necessarily  redoubled.  They 
now  gathered  between  him  and  the  white  settlements,  and 
the  probability  of  coming  upon  his  enemies  was  increased 
at  every  step  in  his  progress.  Apart  from  this,  he  knew  but 
little  of  their  precise  position — now  they  were  on  one,  and 
now  on  the  other  side  of  him — their  whoops  sounding,  with 
the  multiplied  echoes  of  the  wood,  in  every  direction,  and 
inspiring  a  hesitating  dread,  at  every  moment,  that  he  should 
find  himself  suddenly  among  them.  The  anxiety  thus  stim- 
ulated was  more  decidedly  painful  than  would  have  been  the 
hand-to-hand  encounter.  It  was  so  to  the  fearless  heart  of 
Harrison.  Still,  however,  he  kept  his  way,  until,  at  length, 
emerging  from  the  brush  and  foliage,  a  small  lake  lay  before 
*him,  which  he  knew  to  be  not  more  than  three  miles  from 
the  dwelling  of  Bess  Matthews.  He  immediately  prepared 
to  take  the  path  he  had  usually  pursued,  to  the  left,  which 
carried  him  upon  the  banks  of  the  river.  At  that  moment 
his  eye  caught  the  motion  of  a  small  body  of  the  savages  in 


366  THE  YEMASSEE. 

that  very  quarter.  One  third  of  the  whole  circuit  of  the 
lake  lay  between  them  and  himself,  and  he  now  changed  his 
course  to  the  right,  in  the  hope  to  avoid  them.  But  they 
had  been  no  less  watchful  than  himself.  They  had  seen,  and 
prepared  to  intercept  him.  They  divided  for  this  purpose, 
and  while,  with  shouts  and  fierce  halloos,  one  party  retraced 
their  steps  and  came  directly  after  him,  another,  in  perfect 
silence,  advanced  on  their  course  to  the  opposite  quarter  of 
the  lake,  in  the  hope  to  waylay  him  in  front.  Of  this  arrange- 
ment Harrison  was  perfectly  unaware,  and  upon  this  he  did 
not  calculate.  Having  the  start  considerably  of  those  who 
came  behind,  he  did  not  feel  so  deeply  the  risk  of  his  situa- 
tion; but,  fearless  and  swift  of  foot,  he  cheerily  went  for- 
ward, hoping  to  fall  in  with  some  of  the  whites,  or  at  least 
to  shelter  himself  in  a  close  cover  of  the  woods  before  the  red 
men  could  possibly  come  up  with  him.  Through  brake  and 
bush,  heath  and  water,  he  went  forward,  now  running,  now 
walking,  as  the  cries  behind  him  of  his  pursuers  influenced 
his  feelings.  At  length  the  circuit  of  the  lake  was  made, 
and  he  dashed  again  into  the  deeper  forest,  more  secure, 
as  he  was  less  obvious  to  the  sight  than  when  in  the  glare 
of  the  now  high  ascending  moon.  The  woods  thickened  into 
copse  around  him,  and  he  began  to  feel  something  more  of 
hope.  He  could  hear  more  distinctly  the  cries  of  war,  and 
he  now  fancied  that  many  of  the  shouts  that  met  his  ears 
were  those  of  the  English.  In  this  thought  he  plunged  for- 
ward, and  as  one  fierce  halloo  went  up  which  he  clearly  felt 
to  be  from  his  friends,  he  could  not  avoid  the  impulse  which 
prompted  him  to  shout  forth  in  response.  At  that  moment, 
bounding  over  a  fallen  tree,  he  felt  his  course  arrested.  His 
feet  were  caught  by  one  who  lay  hid  beside  it,  and  he  came 
heavily  to  the  ground.  The  Indian  who  had  lain  in  ambush 
was  soon  above  him,  and  he  had  but  time  to  ward  with  one 
arm  a  blow  aimed  at  his  head,  when  another  savage  advanced 
upon  him.  These  two  formed  the  detachment  which  had 
been  sent  forward  in  front,  for  this  very  purpose,  by  the 
party  in  his  rear.  The  prospect  was  desperate,  and  feeling 
it  so,  the  efforts  of  Harrison  were  herculean.  His  only 
weapon  was  the  knife  of  Matiwan,  but  he  was  a  man  of  great 
muscular  power  and  exceedingly  active.    His  faculties  availed 


THE  YEMASSEE.  367 

him  now.     With  a  sudden  evolution,  he  shook  one  of  his 
assailants  from  his  breast,  and  opposed  himself  to  the  other 
while  recovering  his  feet.    They  drove  against  him  with  their 
united  force,  and  one  hatchet  grazed  his  cheek.    The  savage 
who  threw  it  was  borne  forward  by  the  blow,  and  received  the 
knife  of  Harrison  in  his  side,  but  not  sufficiently  deep  to 
disable  him.     They  came  to  it  again  with  renewed  and  in- 
creased ferocitv,  one  assailing  him  from  behind,  while  the 
other  employed  him  in  front.    He  would  have  gained  a  tree, 
but  they  watched  and  kept  him  too  busily  exercised  to  allow 
of  his  design.    A  blow  from  a  club  for  a  moment  paralysed 
his  arm.  and  he  dropped  his  knife.     Stooping  to  recover  it 
they  pressed  him  to  the  ground,  and  so   distributed  them.' 
selves  upon  him,  that  further  effort  was  unavailing.     He  saw 
the  uplifted  hand,  and  felt  that  his  senses  swam  with  de- 
lirious thought— his  eyes  were  hazy,  and  he  muttered  a  con- 
fused language.     At  that  moment— did  he  dream  or  not?— 
it  was  the  de°ep  bav  of  his  own  favorite  hound  that  reached 
his  ears.     The  assailants  heard  it  too— he   felt  assured  of 
that,  as,  half  starting  from  their  hold  upon  him,  they  looked 
anxiously  around.     Another  moment,  and  he  had  no  farther 
doubt;  the  crv  of  thirst  and  anger— the  mixed  moan  and 
roar  of  the  well-known  and  evidently  much-aroused  animal, 
was  closely  at  hand.     One  of  the  Indians  sprang  immediately 
to  his  feet— the  other  was  about  to  strike,  when,  with  a  last 
effort,  he  grasped  the  uplifted  arm  and  shouted  "  Dugdale ! " 
aloud'.     Nor  did  he  shout  in  vain.    The  favorite,  with  a  howl 
of  delight,  bounded  at  the  well-known  voice,  and  in  another 
instant   Harrison   felt   the   long   hair  and   tnick  body   pass 
directly  over  his  face,  then  a  single  deep  cry  rang  above  him, 
and  then  he  felt  the  struggle.     He  now  strove  again  to  take 
part  in  the  frav,  though  one  arm  hung  nervelessly  beside  him. 
He  partially  succeeded  in  freeing  himself  from  the  mass  that 
had  weighed  him  down ;  and  looking  up,  saw  the  entire  mouth 
and  chin  of  the  Indian  in  the  jaws  of  the  ferocious  hound. 
The  savage  knew  his  deadliest  enemy,  and  his  struggle  was, 
not  to  destroy  the  dog,  but.  under  the  sudden  panic,  to  free 
himself   from  his  hold.     With  this  object  his  hatchet  and 
knife  had  been  dropped.     His  hands  were  vainly  endeavour- 
ing to  loosen  the  huge,  steely  jaws  of  his  rough  assailant 


368  THE  YEMASSEE. 

from  his  own.  The  other  Indian  had  fled  with  the  first  bay 
of  the  animal — probably  the  more  willing  to  do  so,  as  the 
momentary  fainting  of  Harrison  had  led  them  to  suppose 
him  beyond  further  opposition.  But  he  recovered;  and,  with 
recovering  consciousness,  resuming  the  firm  grasp  of  his 
knife  which  had  fallen  beside  him,  seconded  the  efforts  of 
Dugdale  by  driving  it  into  the  breast  of  their  remaining 
enemy,  who  fell  dead,  with  his  chin  still  between  the  teeth 
of  the  hound.  Staggering  as  much  with  the  excitement  of 
such  a  conflict,  as  with  the  blow  he  had  received,  Harrison 
with  difficulty  regained  his  feet.  Dugdale  held  on  to  his 
prey,  and  before  he  would  forego  his  hold,  completely  cut 
the  throat  which  he  had  taken  in  his  teeth.  A  single  em- 
brace of  his  master  attested  the  deep  gratitude  which  he 
felt  for  the  good  service  of  his  favorite. 

But  there  was  no  time  for  delay.  The  division  which  pur- 
sued him' was  at  hand.  He  heard  their  shout  from  a  neigh- 
boring copse,  and  he  bent  his  steps  forward.  The  red  men 
were  soon  apprised  of  his  movement.  Joined  by  the  fugitive, 
and  having  heard  his  details,  what  was  their  surprise  to 
find  their  own  warrior  a  victim,  bloody  and  perfectly  dead 
upon  the  grass,  where  they  had  looked  to  have  taken  a  scalp ! 
Their  rage  knew  no  bounds,  and  they  were  now  doubly 
earnest  in  pursuit.  Feeble  from  the  late  struggle,  Harrison 
did  not  possess  his  previous  vigour — besides,  he  had  run  far 
through  the  woods,  and  though  as  hardy  as  any  of  the 
Indians,  he  was  not  so  well  calculated  to  endure  a  race  of 
this  nature.  But,  though  they  gained  on  him,  he  knew  that 
he  had  a  faithful  ally  at  hand  on  whom  he  felt  that  he 
might  safely  depend.  The  hound,  trained  as  was  the  custom, 
was  formidable  to  the  fears  of  the  Indians.  Like  the  ele- 
phant of  old  among  the  Asiatics,  he  inspired  a  degree  of 
terror  among  the  American  aborigines,  which,  in  great  de- 
gree, deprived  them  of  courage  and  conduct;  and,  had  there 
been  less  inequality  of  force,  the  dog  of  Harrison  alone  would 
have  been  sufficient  to  have  decided  his  present  pursuers  to 
choose  a  more  guarded  course,  if  not  to  a  complete  discon- 
tinuance of  pursuit.  But  they  heard  the  shouts  of  their 
own  warriors  all  around  them,  and  trusting  that  flying  from 
one,  the  White  Chief,  the  famous  Coosah-moray-tee,  must 


THE  YEMASSEE.  369 

necessarily  fall  into  the  hands  of  some  other  party,  they  were 
stimulated  still  farther  in  the  chase. 

They  had  not  miscalculated.  The  wild  whoop  of  war — the 
"  Sangarrali-me,  Yemassee/'  rose  directly  in  the  path  of 
Harrison,  and,  wearied  with  flight,  the  fugitive  prepared 
himself  for  the  worst.  He  leaned  against  a  tree  in  exhaus- 
tion, while  the  dog  took  his  place  beside,  him,  obedient  to 
his  master's  command,  though  impatient  to  bound  forward. 
Harrison  kept  him  for  a  more  concentrated  struggle,  and 
wreathing  his  hands  in  the  thick  collar  about  his  neck,  he 
held  him  back  for  individual  assailants.  In  the  meantime 
his  pursuers  approached,  though  with  caution.  His  dog  was 
concealed  by  the  brush,  on  the  skirts  of  which  he  had 
studiously  placed  him.  They  heard  at  intervals  his  long, 
deep  bay,  and  it  had  an  effect  upon  them  not  unlike  that  of 
their  own  war-whoop  upon  the  whites.  They  paused,  as  if 
in  council.  Just  then,  their  party  in  front  set  up  another 
shout,  and  the  confusion  of  a  skirmish  was  evident  to  the 
senses  as  well  of  Harrison  as  of  his  pursuers.  This  to  him 
was  a  favourable  sign.  It  indicated  the  presence  of  friends. 
He  heard  at  length  one  shot,  then  another,  and  another,  and 
at  the  same  time  the  huzzas  of  the  Carolinians.  These  inspired 
him  with  new  courage;  and,  with  an  impulse  which  is  some- 
times, and,  in  desperate  cases,  may  be  almost  always  con- 
sidered wisdom,  he  plunged  forward  through  the  brush  which 
separated  him  from  the  unseen  combatants,  loudly  cheering 
in  the  English  manner,  and  prompting  the  hound  to  set  up  a 
succession  of  cries,  sufficiently  imposing  to  inspire  panic  in 
the  savages. 

His  movement  was  the  signal  to  move  also  on  the  part  of 
those  who  pursued  him.  But  a  few  steps  changed  entirely 
the  scene.  He  had  rushed  upon  the  rear  of  a  band  of  the 
Yemassees,  who,  lying  behind  brush  and  logs,  were  skirmish- 
ing at  advantage  with  a  corps  of  foresters  which  we  have  seen 
led  on  by  the  younger  Grayson.  A  single  glance  sufficed  to 
put  Harrison  in  possession  of  the  true  facts  of  the  case,  and, 
though  hazarding  every  chance  of  life,  he  bounded  directly 
among,  and  through,  the  ambushed  Indians.  Xever  was  des- 
peration more  fortunate  in  its  consequences.  Not  knowing 
the  cause  of  such  a  movement,  the  Yemassees  conceived  them- 


370  THE  YEMASSEE. 

selves  beset  front  and  rear.  They  rose  screaming  from  their 
hiding  places,  and  yielded  on  each  side  of  the  fugitive.  With 
an  unhesitating  hand  he  struck  with  his  knife  one  of  their 
chiefs  who  stood  in  his  path.  The  hound  leaping  among 
them  like  a  hungry  panther,  farther  stimulated  the  panic, 
and  for  a  moment  they  scattered  about  bewildered,  and  with 
a  wholly  purposeless  action.  The  fierce  and  forward  advance 
of  that  portion  of  their  own  allies  who  had  been  pursuing 
Harrison,  still  further  contributed  to  impress  them  with  the 
idea  of  an  enemy  in  the  rear;  and,  before  they  could  recover, 
so  as  to  arrest  his  progress  and  discover  the  true  state  of 
things,  he  had  passed  them,  followed  by  the  obedient  dog. 
In  another  instant  almost  fainting  with  fatigue,  to  the  aston- 
ishment but  satisfaction  of  all,  he  threw  himself,  with  a 
laugh  of  mingled  triumph  and  exhaustion,  into"  the  ranks 
of  his  sturdy  band  of  foresters. 

Without  a  pause  he  commanded  their  attention.  Fully 
conscious  of  the  confusion  among  the  ambushers,  he  ordered 
an  advance,  and  charged  resolutely  through  the  brush.  The 
contest  was  now  hand  to  hand,  and  the  foresters  took  their 
tree  when  necessary,  as  well  as  their  enemies.  The  presence 
of  their  captain  gave  them  new  courage,  and  the  desperate 
manner  in  which  he  had  charged  through  the  party  with 
which  they  fought,  led  them  to  despise  their  foes.  This 
feeling  imparted  to  the  Carolinians  a  degree  of  recklessness, 
which,  new  to  them  in  such  warfare,  was  not  less  new  to  the 
Indians.  Half  frightened  before,  they  needed  but  such  an 
attack  to  determine  them  to  retreat.  They  faltered,  and  at 
length  fled — a  few  fought  on  awhile,  single  handed,  perhaps 
not  knowing  how  completely  their  force  was  scattered;  but 
wounded  and  without  encouragement,  they  too  gave  way, 
sullenly  and  slowly,  and  at  length  were  brought  up  with 
their  less  resolute  companions  in  the  cover  of  a  neighbouring 
and  denser  wood. 

Harrison  did  not  think  it  advisable  to  pursue  them.  Call- 
ing off  his  men,  therefore,  he  led  them  on  the  route  towards 
the  Block  House,  which  he  relied  upon  as  the  chief  rallying 
point  of  the  settlers  in  that  quarter.  His  anxieties,  however, 
at  that  moment,  had  in  them  something  selfish,  and  he  pro- 
ceeded hurriedly  to   the  house   of  old   Matthews.     It  was 


THE  YEMASSEE.  371 

empty — its  inmates  were  gone,  and  the  marks  of  savage 
devastation  were  all  around  them.  The  building  had  been 
plundered,  and  a  hast}'  attempt  made  to  burn  it  by  torches, 
but  without  success,  the  floors  being  only  slightly  scorched. 
He  rushed  through  the  apartments  in  despair,  calling  the 
family  by  name.  What  had  been  their  fate — and  where  was 
she?  The  silence  of  everything  around  spoke  to  him  too 
loudly,  and,  with  the  faintest  possible  hope  that  they  had 
been  sufficiently  apprised  of  the  approach  of  the  Indians  to 
have  taken  the  shelter  of  the  Block  House,  he  proceeded  to 
lead  his  men  to  that  designated  point. 


372  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XLVL 

Let  us  go  back  once  more  to  the  Block  House,  and  look 
into  the  condition  of  its  defenders.  We  remember  the  break- 
ing of  the  ladder,  the  only  one  in  the  possession  of  the 
garrison,  which  led  to  the  upper  story  of  the  building.  This 
accident  left  them  in  an  ugly  predicament,  since  some  time 
must  necessarily  be  taken  up  in  its  repair,  and,  in  the  mean- 
while, the  forces  of  the  garrison  were  divided  in  the  different 
apartments  above  and  below.  In  the  section  devoted  to  the 
women  and  children,  and  somewhat  endangered,  as  we  have 
seen,  from  the  exposed  window  and  the  fallen  tree,  they  were 
its  exclusive  occupants.  The  opposite  chamber  held  a  few  of 
the  more  sturdy  and  common  sense  defenders,  while  in  the 
great  hall  below,  a  miscellaneous  group  of  fifteen  or  twenty — 
the  inferior  spirits — were  assembled.  Two  or  three  of  these 
were  busied  in  patching  up  the  broken  ladder,  which  was 
to  renew  the  communication  between  the  several  parties, 
thus,  of  necessity,  thrown  asunder. 

The  watchers  of  the  fortress,  from  their  several  loop-holes, 
looked  forth,  east  and  west,  yet  saw  no  enemy.  All  was  soft 
in  the  picture,  all  was  silent  in  the  deep  repose  of  the  forest. 
The  night  was  clear  and  lovely,  and  the  vague  and  dim 
beauty  with  which,  in  the  imperfect  moonlight,  the  foliage 
of  the  woods  spread  away  in  distant  shadows,  or  clung  and 
clustered  together  as  in  groups,  shrinking  for  concealment 
from  her  glances,  touched  the  spirits  even  of  those  rude 
foresters.  With  them  the  poetry  of  the  natural  world  is  a 
matter  of  feeling — with  the  refined,  it  is  an  instrument  of 
art.  Hence  it  is,  indeed,  that  the  poetry  of  the  early  ages 
speaks  in  the  simplest  language,  while  that  of  civilization, 
becoming  only  the  agent  for  artificial  enjoyment,  is  ornate 
in  its  dress,  and  complex  in  its  form  and  structure. 

The  night  wore  on,  still  calm  and  serene  in  all  its  aspects 
about  the  Block  House.  Far  away  in  the  distance,  like 
glimpses  of  a  spirit,  little  sweeps  of  the  river,  in  its  crooked 


THE  YEMASSEE.  373 

windings,  flashed  upon  the  eye,  streaking,  with  a  sweet  relief, 
the  sombre  foliage  of  the  swampy  forest  through  which  it 
stole.  A  single  note — the  melancholy  murmur  of  the  chuck- 
will's-widow — the  Carolina  whippoorwill — broke  fitfully  upon 
the  silence,  to  which  it  gave  an  added  solemnity.  That 
single  note  indicated  to  the  keepers  of  the  fortress  a  watch- 
fulness corresponding  with  their  own,  of  another  living 
creature.  Whether  it  were  human  or  not — whether  it  were 
the  deceptive  lure  and  signal  of  the  savage,  or,  in  reality, 
the  complaining  cry  of  the  solitary  and  sad  night-bird  which 
it  so  resembled,  was,  however,  matter  of  nice  question  with 
those  who  listened  to  the  strain. 

"  They  are  there — they  are  there ; — hidden  in  that  wood ;" 
— cried  Grayson — "  I'll  swear  it.  I've  heard  them  quite  too* 
often  not  to  knowr  their  cunning  now.  Hector  was  right,, 
after  all,  bovs." 

*  What,  where  ?" — asked  Nichols. 

"  There,  in  the  bush  to  the  left  of  the  blasted  oak — now, 
down  to  the  bluff — and  now,  by  the  bay  on  the  right.  They 
are  all  round  us." 

"  By  what  do  you  know,  Wat?" 

"  The  whippoorwill — that  is  their  cry — their  signal." 

"  It  is  the  whippoorwill,"  said  Nichols, — "  there  is  but  one 
of  them;  you  never  hear  more  than  one  at  a  time." 

"  Pshaw  !  "  responded  Grayson, — "  you  may  hear  half-a- 
dozen  at  a  time,  as  I  have  done  a  thousand  times.  But  that 
is  from  no  throat  of  bird.  It  is  the  Indian.  There  is  but 
a  single  note,  you  perceive;  and  it  rises  from  three  different 
quarters.  Now  it  is  to  the  Chief's  Bluff — and  now — it  comes 
immediately  from  the  old  grove  of  scrubby  oak.  A  few  shot 
there  would  get  an  answer." 

"  Good !  that  is  just  my  thought — let  us  give  them  a 
broadside,  and  disperse  the  scoundrels,"  cried  Nichols. 

"  Not  so  fast,  Nichols — you  swallow  your  enemy  without 
asking  leave  of  his  teeth.  Have  you  inquired  first  whether 
we  have  powder  and  shot  to  throw  away  upon  bushes  that 
may  be  empty?"  now  exclaimed  the  blacksmith,  joining  in 
the  question. 

"  A  prudent  thought,  that,  Grimstead,"  said  Grayson, — "  we 
have  no  ammunition  to  spare  in  that  way.     But  I  have  a 


374  THE  YEMASSEE. 

notion  that  may  prove  of  profit.  Where  is  the  captain's  straw 
man — here,  Granger,  bring  out  Dugdale's  trainer." 

The  stuffed  figure  already  described  was  brought  forward, 
the  window  looking  in  the  direction  of  the  grove  supposed 
to  shelter  the  savages  was  thrown  open,  and  the  perfectly 
indifferent  head  of  the  automaton  thrust  incontinently 
through  the  opening.  The  ruse  was  completely  successful. 
The  foe  could  not  well  resist  this  temptation,  and  a  flight 
of  arrows,  penetrating  the  figure  in  every  portion  of  its 
breast  and  face,  attested  the  presence  of  the  enemy  and  the 
truth  of  his  aim.  A  wild  and  shuddering  cry  rang  through 
the  forest  at  the  same  instant — that  cry,  well  known  as  the 
fearful  war-whoop,  the  sound  of  which  made  the  marrow 
curdle  in  the  bones  of  the  frontier  settler,  and  prompted  the 
mother  with  a  nameless  terror  to  hug  closer  to  her  bosom 
the  form  of  her  unconscious  infant.  It  was  at  once  answered 
from  side  to  side,  wherever  their  several  parties  had  been 
stationed,  and  it  struck  terror  even  into  the  sheltered  gar- 
rison which  heard  it — such  terror  as  the  traveller  feels  by 
night,  when  the  shrill  rattle  of  the  lurking  serpent,  with 
that  ubiquity  of  sound  which  is  one  of  its  fearful  features, 
vibrates  all  around  him,  leaving  him  at  a  loss  to  say  in 
what  quarter  his  enemy  lies  in  waiting,  and  teaching  him  to 
dread  that  the  very  next  step  which  he  takes  may  place  him 
within  the  coil  of  death. 

"Ay,  there  they  are,  sure  enough — fifty  of  them  at  least, 
and  we  shall  have  them  upon  us,  after  this,  monstrous  quick, 
in  some  way  or  other,"  was  the  speech  of  Grayson,  while  a 
brief  silence  through  all  the  party  marked  the  deep  influence 
upon  them  of  the  summons  which  they  had  heard. 

"  True — and  we  must  be  up  and  doing,"  said  the  smith ; 
"  we  can  now  give  them  a  shot,  [Walter]  Grayson,  for  they  will 
dance  out  from  the  cover  now,  thinking  they  have  killed  one 
of  us.  The  savages — they  have  thrown  away  some  of  their 
powder  at  least."  As  Grimstead  spoke,  he  drew  three  arrows 
with  no  small  difficulty  from  the  bosom  of  the  figure  in  which 
they  were  buried. 

"  Better  there  than  in  our  ribs.  But  you  are  right.  Stand 
back  for  a  moment  and  let  me  have  that  loop — I  shall  waste 
no  shot.     Ha!  I  see — there  is  one — I  see  his  arm  and  the 


THE  YEMASSEE.  375 

edge  of  his  hatchet — it  rests  upon  his  shoulder,  I  reckon,  but 
that  is  concealed  by  the  brush.  He  moves — he  comes  out, 
and  slaps  his  hands  against  his  thigh.  The  red  devil,  but  he 
shall  have  it.  Get  ready,  now,  each  at  his  loop,  for  if  I  hurt 
him  they  will  rush  out  in  fury." 

The  sharp  click  of  the  cock  followed  the  words  of  Gray- 
son, who  was  an  able  shot,  and  the  next  moment  the  full 
report  came  burdened  with  a  dozen  echoes  from  the  crowding 
woods  around.  A  cry  of  pain — then  a  shout  of  fury  and 
the  reiterated  whoop  followed;  and  as  one  of  their  leaders 
reeled  and  sank  under  the  unerring  bullet,  the  band  in  that 
station,  as  had  been  predicted  by  Grayson,  rushed  forth  to 
where  he  stood,  brandishing  their  weapons  with  ineffectual 
fury,  and  lifting  their  wounded  comrade,  as  is  their  general 
custom,  to  bear  him  to  a  place  of  concealment,  and  preserve 
him  from  being  scalped,  by  secret  burial,  in  the  event  of  his 
being  dead.  They  paid  for  their  temerity.  Following  the 
direction  of  their  leader,  whose  decision  necessarily  com- 
manded their  obedience,  the  Carolinians  took  quite  as  much 
advantage  of  the  exposure  of  their  enemies,  as  the  number 
of  the  loop-holes  in  that  quarter  of  the  building  would  admit. 
Five  muskets  told  among  the  group,  and  a  reiterated  shout 
of  fury  indicated  the  good  service  which  the  discharge  had 
done,  and  taught  the  savages  a  lesson  of  prudence,  which,  in 
the  present  instance,  they  had  been  too  ready  to  disregard. 
They  sank  back  into  cover,  taking  care  however  to  remove 
their  hurt  companions,  so  that,  save  by  the  peculiar  cry  which 
marks  a  loss  among  them,  the  garrison  were  unable  to  de- 
termine what  had  been  the  success  of  their  discharges.  Hav- 
ing driven  them  back  into  the  brush,  however,  without  loss 
to  themselves,  the  latter  were  now  sanguine,  where,  only  a 
moment  before,  their  confined  and  cheerless  position  had 
taught  them  a  feeling  of  despondency  not  calculated  to  im- 
prove the  comforts  of  their  case. 

The  Indians  had  made  their  arrangements,  on  the  other 
hand,  with  no  little  precaution.  But  they  had  been  deceived 
and  disappointed.  Their  scouts,  who  had  previously  in- 
spected the  fortress,  had  given  a  very  different  account  of  the 
defences  and  the  watchfulness  of  their  garrison,  to  what  was 
actually  the  fact  upon  their  appearance.     The  scouts,  how- 


376  THE  YEMASSEE. 

ever,  had  spoken  truth,  and,  but  for  the  discovery  made  by- 
Hector,  the  probability  is  that  the^  Block  House  would  have 
been  surprised  with  little  or  no  difficulty.  Accustomed  to 
obey  Harrison  as  their  only  leader,  the  foresters  present  never 
dreamed  of  preparation  for  conflict  unless  under  his  guid- 
ance. The  timely  advice  of  the  traders  wife,  and  the  con- 
fident assumption  of  command  on  the  part  of  Walter  Gray- 
son, completed  their  securities.  But  for  this,  a  confusion 
of  counsels,  not  less  than  of  tongues,  would  have  neutralized 
all  action,  and  left  them  an  easy  prey,  without  head  or 
direction,  to  the  knives  of  their  insidious  enemy.  Calculating 
upon  surprise  and  cunning  as  the  only  means  by  which  they 
could  hope  to  balance  the  numerous  advantages  possessed  by 
European  warfare  over  their  own,  the  Indians  had  relied 
rather  more  on  the  suddenness  of  their  onset,  and  the  craft 
peculiar  to  their  education,  than  on  the  force  of  their  valour. 
They  felt  themselves  baffled,  therefore,  in  their  main  hope, 
by  the  sleepless  caution  of  the  garrison,  and  now  prepared 
themselves  for  other  means. 

They  made  their  disposition  of  force  with  no  little  judg- 
ment. Small  bodies,  at  equal  distances,  under  cover,  had 
been  stationed  all  about  the  fortress.  With  the  notes  of  the 
whippoorwill  they  had  carried  on  their  signals,  and  indicated 
the  several  stages  of  their  preparation;  while,  in  addition 
to  this,  another  band — a  sort  of  forlorn  hope,  consisting  of 
the  more  desperate,  who  had  various  motives  for  signalizing 
their  valour — creeping  singly,  from  cover  to  cover,  now  re- 
posing in  the  shadow  of  a  log  along  the  ground,  now  half 
buried  in  a  clustering  bush,  made  their  way  at  length  so 
closely  under  the  walls  of  the  log  house  as  to  be  completely 
concealed  from  the  garrison,  which,  unless  by  the  window, 
had  no  mode  of  looking  directly  down  upon  them.  As  the 
windows  were  well  watched  by  their  comrades — having  once 
attained  their  place  of  concealment — it  followed  that  their 
position  remained  entirely  concealed  from  those  within.  They 
lay  in  waiting  for  the  favourable  moment — silent  as  the  grave, 
and  sleepless — ready,  when  the  garrison  should  determine 
upon  a  sally,  to  fall  upon  their  rear;  and  in  the  meanwhile, 
quietly  preparing  dry  fuel  in  quantity,  gathering  it  from 
time  to  time,  and  piling  it  against  the  logs  of  the  fortress, 


THE  YBMASSBB.  377 

they  prepared  thus  to  fire  the  defences  that  shut  them  out 
from  their  prey. 

There  was  yet  another  mode  of  finding  entrance,  which  has 
been  partially  glimpsed  at  already.  The  scouts  had  done 
their  office  diligently  in  more  than  the  required  respects. 
Finding  a  slender  pine  twisted  by  a  late  storm,  and  scarcely 
sustained  by  a  fragment  of  its  shaft,  they  applied  fire  to  the 
rich  turpentine  oozing  from  the  wounded  part  of  the  tree, 
and  carefully  directing  its  fall,  as  it  yielded  to  the  fire,  they 
lodged  its  extremest  branches,  as  we  have  already  seen,  against 
the  wall  of  the  Block  House  and  just  beneath  the  window, 
the  only  one  looking  from  that  quarter  of  the  fortress.  Three 
of  the  bravest  of  their  warriors  were  assigned  for  scaling  this 
point  and  securing  their  entrance,  and  the  attack  was  for- 
borne by  the  rest  of  the  band,  while  their  present  design,  upon 
which  they  built  greatly,  was  in  progress. 

Let  us  then  turn  to  this  quarter.  We  have  already  seen 
that  the  dangers  of  this  position  were  duly  estimated  by 
Grayson,  under  the  suggestion  of  Granger's  wife.  Unhappily 
for  its  defence,  the  fate  of  the  ladder  prevented  that  due 
attention  to  the  subject,  at  once,  which  had  been  imperatively 
called  for;  and  the  subsequent  excitement  following  the  dis- 
covery of  the  immediate  proximity  of  the  Indians,  had  turned 
the  consideration  of  the  defenders  to  the  opposite  end  of  the 
building,  from  whence  the  partial  attack  of  the  enemy,  as 
described,  had  come.  It  is  true  that  the  workmen  were  yet 
busy  with  the  ladder;  but  the  assault  had  suspended  their 
operations,  in  the  impatient  curiosity  which  such  an  event 
would  necessarily  induce,  even  in  the  bosom  of  fear. 

The  wife  of  Grayson,*  fully  conscious  of  the  danger,  was 
alone  sleepless  in  that  apartment.  The  rest  of  the  women, 
scarcelv  apprehensive  of  attack  at  all,  and  perfectly  ignorant 
of  the  present  condition  of  affairs,  with  all  that  heedlessness 
which  marks  the  unreflecting  character,  had  sunk  to  the 
repose  (without  an  effort  at  "watchfulness)  which  previous 
fatigues  had,  perhaps,  made  absolutely  unavoidable.  She, 
alone,  sat  thoughtful  and  silent — musing  over  present  pros- 

*  The  wife  of  Granger,  instead  of  Grayson,  is  evidently  meant 
here.  This  mistake  exists  in  both  the  first  and  the  revised  1853 
edition. 


378  THE  YEMASSEE. 

pects — perhaps  of  the  past — but  still  unforgetful  of  the  diffi- 
culties and  the  dangers  before  her.  With  a  calm  temper  she 
awaited  the  relief  which,  with  the  repair  of  the  ladder,  she 
looked  for  from  below. 

In  the  meantime  hearing  something  of  the  alarm,  together 
with  the  distant  war-whoop,  she  had  looked  around  her  for 
some  means  of  defence,  in  the  event  of  any  attempt  being 
made  upon  the  window  before  the  aid  promised  could  reach 
her.  But  a  solitary  weapon  met  her  eye,  in  a  long  heavy 
hatchet,  a  clumsy  instrument,  rather  more  like  the  cleaver 
of  a  butcher  than  the  light  and  slender  tomakawk  so  familiar 
to  the  Indians.  Having  secured  this,  with  the  composure 
of  that  courage  which  had  been  in  great  part  taught  her  by 
the  necessities  of  fortune,  she  prepared  to  do  without  other 
assistance,  and  to  forego  the  sentiment  of  dependence,  which 
is  perhaps  one  of  the  most  marked  characteristics  of  her  sex. 
Calmly  looking  round  upon  the  sleeping  and  defenceless  crowd 
about  her,  she  resumed  her  seat  upon  a  low  bench  in  a  corner 
of  the  apartment,  from  which  she  had  risen  to  secure  the 
hatchet,  and,  extinguishing  the  only  light  in  the  room,  fixed 
her  eye  upon  the  accessible  window,  while  every  thought  of 
her  mind  prepared  her  for  the  danger  which  was  at  hand. 
She  had  not  long  been  seated  when  she  fancied  that  she  heard 
a  slight  rustling  of  the  branches  of  the  fallen  tree  just  beneath 
the  window.  She  could  not  doubt  her  senses,  and  her  heart 
swelled  and  throbbed  with  the  consciousness  of  approaching 
danger.  But  still  she  was  firm — her  spirit  grew  more  con- 
firmed with  the  coming  trial;  and,  coolly  throwing  the  slip- 
pers from  her  feet,  grasping  firmly  her  hatchet  at  the  same 
time,  she  softly  arose,  and  keeping  close  in  the  shadow  of  the 
wall,  she  made  her  way  to  a  recess,  a  foot  or  so  from  the 
entrance,  to  which  it  was  evident  some  one  was  cautiously 
approaching  along  the  attenuated  body  of  the  yielding  pine. 
In  a  few  moments  and  a  shadow  darkened  the  opening.  She 
edged  more  closely  to  the  point,  and  prepared  for  the  intruder. 
She  now  beheld  the  head  of  the  enemy — a  fierce  and  foully 
painted  savage — the  war-tuft  rising  up  into  a  ridge,  some- 
thing like  a  comb,  and  his  face  smeared  with  colours  in  a 
style  the  most  ferociously  grotesque.  Still  she  could  not 
strike,  for,  as  he  had  not  penetrated  the  window,  and  as  its 


THE  YEMASSEE.  379 

entrance  was  quite  too  small  to  enable  her  to  strike  with  any 
hope  of  success  at  any  distance  through  it,  she  felt  that  the 
effort  would  be  wholly  without  certainty;  and  failure  might 
be  of  the  worst  consequence.  Though  greatly  excited,  and 
struggling  between  doubt  and  determination,  she  readily  saw 
what  would  be  the  error  of  any  precipitation.  But  even  as 
she  mused  thus  apprehensively,  the  cunning  savage  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  sill  of  the  window,  the  better  to  raise  himself 
to  its  level.  That  sight  tempted  her  in  spite  of  her  better 
sense,  to  the  very  precipitation  she  had  desired  to  avoid.  In 
the  moment  that  she  saw  the  hand  of  the  red  man  upon  the 
sill,  the  hatchet  descended,  under  an  impulse  scarcely  her  own. 
She  struck  too  quickly.  The  blow  was  given  with  all  her 
force,  and  would  certainly  have  separated  the  hand  from  the 
arm  had  it  taken  effect.  But  the  quick  eye  of  the  Indian 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  movement  at  the  very  moment  in 
which  it  was  made,  and  the  hand  was  withdrawn  before  the 
hatchet  descended.  The  steel  sank  deep  into  the  soft  wood — 
so  deeply  that  she  could  not  disengage  it.  To  try  at  this 
object  would  have  exposed  her  at  once  to  his  weapon,  and 
leaving  it  where  it  stuck,  she  sunk  back  again  into  shadow. 
What  now  was  she  to  do?  To  stay  where  she  was  would  be 
of  little  avail;  but  to  cry  out  to  those  below,  and  seek  to  fly, 
was  equally  unproductive  of  good,  besides  warning  the  enemy 
of  the  defencelessness  of  their  condition,  and  thus  inviting  a 
renewal  of  the  attack.  The  thought  came  to  her  with  the 
danger ;  and,  without  a  word,  she  maintained  her  position,  in 
waiting  for  the  progress  of  events.  As  the  Indian  had  also 
sunk  from  sight,  and  some  moments  had  now  elapsed  without 
his  reappearance,  she  determined  to  make  another  effort  for 
the  recovery  of  the  hatchet.  She  grasped  it  by  the  handle,  and 
in  the  next  moment  the  hand  of  the  savage  was  upon  her  own. 
He  felt  that  his  grasp  was  on  the  fingers  of  a  woman,  and  in 
a  brief  word  and  something  of  a  chuckle,  while  he  still  main- 
tained his  hold  upon  it,  he  conveyed  intelligence  of  the  fact 
to  those  below.  But  it  was  a  woman  with  a  man's  spirit  with 
whom  he  contended,  and  her.  endeavour  was  successful  to  dis- 
engage herself.  The  same  success  did  not  attend  her  effort  to 
recover  the  weapon.  In  the  brief  struggle  with  her  enemy  it 
had  become  disengaged  from  the  wood,  and  while  both  strove 


380  THE  YEMASSEE. 

to  seize  it,  it  slipped  from  their  mutual  hands,  and  sliding  over 
the  sill,  in  another  instant  was  heard  rattling  through  the 
intervening  bushes.  Descending  upon  the  ground  below,  it 
became  the  spoil  of  those  without,  whose  murmurs  of  gratu- 
lation  she  distinctly  heard.  But  now  came  the  tug  of  diffi- 
culty. The  Indian,  striving  at  the  entrance,  was  necessarily 
encouraged  by  the  discovery  that  his  opponent  was  not  a  man ; 
and  assured,  at  the  same  time,  by  the  forbearance,  on  the 
part  of  those  within,  to  strike  him  effectually  down  from 
the  tree,  he  now  resolutely  endeavoured  to  effect  his  entrance. 
His  head  was  again  fully  in  sight  of  the  anxious  woman — 
then  his  shoulders;  and,  at  length,  taking  a  firm  grasp  upon 
the  sill,  he  strove  to  elevate  himself  by  muscular  strength, 
so  as  to  secure  him  sufficient  purchase  for  the  entrance  at 
which  he  aimed. 

What  could  she  do — weaponless,  hopeless?  The  prospect 
was  startling  and  terrible  enough";  but  she  was  a  strong- 
minded  woman,  and  impulse  served  her  when  reflection  would 
most  probably  have  taught  her  to  fly.  She  had  but  one 
resource;  and  as  the  Indian  had  gradually  thrust  one  hand 
forward  for  the  hold  upon  the  sill,  and  raised  the  other  up 
to  the  side  of  the  window,  she  grasped  the  one  nighest  to  her 
own.  She  grasped  it  firmly,  with  all  her  might,  and  to 
advantage,  as,  having  lifted  himself  on  tiptoe  for  the  purpose 
of  ascent,  he  had  necessarily  lost  much  of  the  control  which 
a  secure  hold  for  his  feet  must  have  given  him.  Her  grasp 
sufficiently  assisted  him  forward,  to  lessen  still  more  greatly 
the  security  of  his  feet,  while,  at  the  same  time,  though  bring- 
ing him  still  farther  into  the  apartment,  placing  him  in  such 
a  position — half  in  air — as  to  defeat  much  of  the  muscular 
exercise  which  his  limbs  would  have  possessed  in  any  other 
situation.  Her  weapon  now  would  have  been  all-important; 
and  the  brave  woman  mentally  deplored  the  precipitancy  with 
which  she  had  acted  in  the  first  instance,  and  which  had  so 
unhappily  deprived  her  of  its  use.  But  self-reproach  was 
unavailing  now,  and  she  was  satisfied  if  she  could  be  able  to 
retain  her  foe  in  his  present  position;  by  which,  keeping  him 
out,  or  in  and  out,  as  she  did,  she  necessarily  excluded  all 
other  foes  from  the  aperture  which  he  so  completely  filled  up. 
The  intruder,  though  desirous  enough  of  entrance  before,  was 


THE  YEMASSEE.  381 

rather  reluctant  to  obtain  it  now,  under  existing  circum- 
stances. He  strove  desperately  to  effect  a  retreat,  but  had 
advanced  too  far,  however,  to  be  easily  successful;  and,  in 
his  confusion  and  disquiet,  he  spoke  to  those  below,  in  his 
own  language,  explaining  his  difficulty,  and  directing  their 
movement  to  his  assistance.  A  sudden  rush  along  the  tree 
indicated  to  the  conscious  sense  of  the  woman  the  new  danger, 
in  the  approach  of  additional  enemies,  who  must  not  only 
sustain,  but  push  forward,  the  one  with  whom  she  contended. 
This  warned  her  at  once  of  the  necessity  of  some  sudden  pro- 
cedure, if  she  hoped  to  do  any  thing  for  her  own  and  the  safety 
of  those  around  her — the  women  and  the  children;  whom, 
amid  all  the  contest,  she  had  never  once  alarmed.  Putting 
forth  all  her  strength,  therefore,  though  nothing  in  compari- 
son with  that  of  him  whom  she  opposed,  had  he  been  in  a 
condition  to  exert  it,  she  strove  to  draw  him  still  farther  across 
the  entrance,  so  as  to  exclude,  if  possible,  the  approach  of 
those  coming  behind  him.  She  hoped  to  gain  time — sufficient 
time  for  those  preparing  the  ladder  to  come  to  her  relief; 
and  with  this  hope,  for  the  first  time,  she  called  aloud  to 
Grayson  and  her  husband. 

The  Indian,  in  the  meanwhile,  derived  the  support  for  his 
person,  as  well  from  the  grasp  of  the  woman,  as  from  his  own 
hold  upon  the  sill  of  the  window.  Her  effort  necessarily  draw- 
ing him  still  farther  forward,  placed  him  so  completely  in 
the  way  of  his  allies  that  they  could  do  him  little  service 
while  things  remained  in  this  situation ;  and,  to  complete  the 
difficulties  of  his  predicament,  while  they  busied  themselves 
in  several  efforts  at  his  extrication,  the  branches  of  the  little 
tree,  resting  against  the  dwelling,  yielding  suddenly  to  the 
unusual  weight  upon  it — trembling  and  sinking  away  at  last — 
cracked  beneath  the  burden,  and  snapping  off  from  its  several 
holds,  fell  from  under  them,  dragging  against  the  building 
in  the  progress  down;  thus  breaking  their  fall,  but  cutting 
off  all  their  hope  from  this  mode  of  entrance,  and  leaving 
their  comrade  awkwardly  poised  aloft,  able  neither  to  enter, 
nor  to  depart  from  the  window.  The  tree  finally  settled 
heavily  upon  the  ground ;  and  with  it  went  the  three  savages 
who  had  so  readily  ascended  to  the  assistance  of  their  comrade 
— bruised  and  very  much  hurt;  while  he,  now  without  any 


382  THE  YEMASSEE. 

support  but  that  which  he  derived  from  the  sill,  and  what 
little  his  feet  could  secure  from  the  irregular  crevices  between 
the  logs  of  which  the  house  had  been  built,  was  hung  in  air, 
unable  to  advance  except  at  the  will  of  his  woman  opponent, 
and  dreading  a  far  worse  fall  from  his  eminence  than  that 
which  had  already  happened  to  his  allies.  Desperate  with  his 
situation,  he  thrust  his  arm,  as  it  was  still  held  by  the  woman, 
still  farther  into  the  window,  and  this  enabled  her  with  both 
hands  to  secure  and  strengthen  the  grasp  which  she  had 
originally  taken  upon  it.  This  she  did  with  a  new  courage 
and  strength,  derived  from  the  voices  below,  by  which  she 
understood  a  promise  of  assistance.  Excited  and  nerved,  she 
drew  the  extended  arm  of  the  Indian,  in  spite  of  all  his 
struggles,  directly  over  the  sill,  so  as  to  turn  the  elbow  com- 
pletely down  upon  it.  With  her  whole  weight  thus  employed, 
bending  down  to  the  floor  to  strengthen  herself  to  the  task, 
she  pressed  the  arm  across  the  window  until  her  ears  heard 
the  distinct,  clear  crack  of  the  bone — until  she  heard  the 
groan,  and  felt  the  awful  struggles  of  the  suffering  wretch, 
twisting  himself  round  with  all  his  effort  to  obtain  for  the 
shattered  arm,  a  natural  and  relaxed  position,  and,  with  this 
object,  leaving  his  hold  upon  every  thing;  only  sustained, 
indeed,  by  the  grasp  of  his  enemy.  But  the  movement  of  the 
woman  had  been  quite  too  sudden,  her  nerves  too  firm,  and 
her  strength  too  great,  to  suffer  him  to  succeed.  The  jagged 
splinters  of  the  broken  limb  were  thrust  up,  lacerating  and 
tearing  through  flesh  and  skin,  while  a  howl  of  the  acutest 
agony  attested  the  severity  of  that  suffering  which  could 
extort  such  an  acknowledgment  from  the  American  savage. 
He  fainted  in  his  pain,  and  as  the  weight  increased  upon  the 
arm  of  the  woman,  the  nature  of  her  sex  began  to  resume  its 
sway.  With  a  shudder  of  every  fibre,  she  released  her  hold 
upon  him.  The  effort  of  her  soul  was  over — a  strange  sick- 
ness came  upon  her ;  and  she  was  just  conscious  of  a  crashing 
fall  of  the  heavy  body  among  the  branches  of  the  tree  at  the 
foot  of  the  window,  when  she  staggered  back  fainting  into 
the  arms  of  her  husband,  who  just  at  that  moment  ascended  to 
her  relief. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  383 


CHAPTER    XLVII. 

These  slight  defeats  were  sufficiently  annoying  in  them- 
selves to  the  invaders;  they  were  more  so,  as  they  proved  not 
only  the  inadequacy  of  their  present  mode  of  assault,  but  the 
watchfulness  of  the  beleaguered  garrison.  Their  hope  had 
been  to  take  the  borderers  by  surprise.  Failing  to  succeed 
in  this,  they  were  now  thrown  all  aback.  Their  fury  was 
consequently  more  than  ever  exaggerated  by  their  losses,  and, 
rushing  forward  in  their  desperation,  through,  and  in  defiance 
of,  the  fire  from  the  Carolinians,  the  greater  number  placed 
themselves  beneath  the  line  of  pickets,  with  so  much  celerity 
as  to  baffle,  in  most  respects,  the  aim  of  the  defenders.  A  few 
remained  to  bear  away  the  wounded  and  slain  to  a  place  of 
safe  shelter  in  the  thick  woods,  while  the  rest  lay,  either  in 
quiet  under  the  walls  of  the  Block  House,  secure  there  from 
the  fire  of  the  garrison,  or  amused  themselves  in  unavailing 
cries  of  sarcasm  to  those  within,  while  impotently  expending 
blows  udoii  the  insensible  logs  between  them.  The  elder 
Grayson,  who  directed  solely  the  movements  of  the  belea- 
guered, was  not  unwilling  that  the  assailants  should  amuse 
themselves  after  this  fashion,  as  the  delay  of  the  Indians  was 
to  them  the  gain  of  time,  which  was  all  they  could  expect  at 
such  a  period,  and,  perhaps,  in  a  predatory  warfare  like  the 
present,  all  that  they  could  desire. 

But  Ishiagaska  with  his  force  now  came  upon  the  scene, 
and  somewhat  changed  the  aspect  of  affairs.  He  took  the 
entire  command,  reinvigorated  the  efforts  of  the  red  men,  and 
considerably  altered  the  mode  and  direction  of  attack.  He 
was  a  subtle  partisan,  and  the  consequences  of  his  appear- 
ance were  soon  perceptible  in  the  development  of  events.  The 
force  immediately  beneath  the  walls,  and  secure  from  the  shot 
of  the  garrison,  were  reinforced,  and  in  so  cautious  a  manner, 
that  the  Carolinians  were  entirely  ignorant  of  the  increased 
strength  of  the  enemy  in  that  quarter.  Creeping,  as  they 
did,  from  bush  to  bush — now  lying  prone  and  silent  to  the 
ground,  in  utter  immobility — now  rushing,  as  circumstances 


384  THE  YEMASSEE. 

prompted,  with  all  rapidity — they  put  themselves  into  cover, 
crossing  the  intervening  space  without  the  loss  of  a  man. 
Having  thus  collected  in  force  beneath  the  walls  of  the 
fortress,  the  greater  number  proceeded  to  gather  up  in  piles, 
as  fhey  had  begun  to  do  before,  immense  quantities  of  the 
dry  pine  trash  and  the  gummy  turpentine  wood  which  the 
neighbourhood  readily  afforded.  Other  parties  watched  the 
garrison,  with  bows  ready,  and  arrows  on  the  string.  Mean- 
while, the  piles  of  combustible  matter  were  heaped  in  thick 
masses  around  the  more  accessible  points  of  the  pickets;  and 
the  first  intimation  which  the  garrison  had  of  their  proceed- 
ing was  a  sudden  gust  of  flame,  blazing  first  about  the  gate 
of  the  area,  on  one  side  of  the  Block  House,  then  rushing 
from  point  to  point  with  amazing  rapidity,  sweeping  and 
curling  widely  around  the  building  itself.  The  gate,  and  the 
pickets  all  about  it,  made  as  they  had  been  of  the  rich  pine, 
for  its  great  durability,  were  themselves  as  appropriate  mate- 
rials for  the  destructive  element  to  feed  upon,  as  the  Indians 
could  have  desired ;  and,  licked  greedily  by  the  fire,  were  soon 
ignited.  Blazing  impetuously,  the  flames  soon  aroused  the 
indwell  ers  to  a  more  acute  consciousness  of  the  danger  now 
at  hand.  A  fierce  shout  of  their  assailants,  as  they  beheld 
the  rapid  progress  of  the  experiment,  warned  them  to  greater 
exertion  if  they  hoped  to  escape  the  dreadful  fate  which 
threatened  to  engulf  them.  To  remain  where  they  were,  was 
to  be  consumed  in  the  flames :  to  rush  forth,  was  to  encounter 
the  tomahawks  of  an  enemy  five  times  their  number. 

It  was  a  moment  of  gloomy  necessity,  that  which  assembled 
the  chief  defenders  of  the  fortress' to  a  sort  of  war-council. 
They  could  only  deliberate — to  fight  was  out  of  the  question. 
Their  enemy  was  one  to  whom  they  could  now  oppose 

" Nor  subtle  wile, 


Nor  arbitration  strong." 

The  Indians  showed  no  front  for  assault  or  aim,  while  the 
flames,  rushing  from  point  to  point,  and  seizing  upon  numer- 
ous places  at  once,  continued  to  advance  with  a  degree  of 
celerity  which  left  it  impossible,  in  the  dry  condition  of  its 
timber,  that  the  Block  House  could  possibly,  for  any  length 
of  time,  escape.     Upon  the  building  itself  the  savages  could 


THE  YEMASSEE.  385 

not  fix  the  fire  at  first.  But  two  ends  of  it  were  directly 
accessible  to  them,  and  these  were  without  any  entrance,  had 
been  pierced  with  holes  for  musketry,  and  were  well  watched 
by  the  vigilant  eyes  within.  The  two  sides  were  inclosed  by 
the  line  of  pickets,  and  had  no  need  of  other  guardianship. 
The  condition  of  affairs  was  deplorable.  The  women  wept 
and  prayed,  the  children  screamed,  and  the  men,  assembling 
in  the  long  apartment  of  the  lower  story,  with  heavy  hearts 
and  solemn  faces,  proceeded  to  ask  counsel  of  one  another  in 
the  last  resort.  Some  lay  around  on  the  loose  plank;  here 
and  there,  along  the  floor,  a  bearskin  formed  the  place  of 
rest  for  a  huge  and  sullen  warrior,  vexed  with  the  possession 
of  strength  which  he  was  not  permitted  to  employ.  A  few 
watched  at  the  musket  holes,  and  others  busied  themselves 
in  adjusting  all  things  for  the  final  necessity,  so  far  as  their 
thoughts  or  fancies  could  possibly  divine  its  shape. 

The  principal  men  of  the  garrison  were  gathered  in  the 
centre  of  the  hall,  sitting  with  downcast  heads  and  fronting 
one  another,  along  two  of  the  uncovered  sleepers;  their  mus- 
kets resting  idly  between  their  legs,  their  attitudes  and  general 
expression  of  abandon  signifying  clearly  the  due  increase  of 
apprehension  in  their  minds  with  the  progress  of  the  flames. 
Broad  flashes  of  light  from  the  surrounding  conflagration 
illuminated,  but  could  not  enliven,  the  sombre  character  of 
that  grouping.  A  general  pause  ensued  after  their  assemblage, 
none  seeming  willing  or  able  to  offer  counsel ;  and  Grayson 
himself,  the  brave  forester  in  command,  was  evidently  at 
fault  in  the  farther  business  before  them.  Xichols  was  the 
only  man  to  break  the  silence,  which  he  did  in  his  usual 
manner. 

"  And  why,  my  friends,  are  we  here  assembled  ?  "  was  his 
sagacious  inquiry,  looking  round  as  he  spoke  upon  his  inatten- 
tive coadjutors.  A  forced  smile  on  the  faces  of  several,  but 
not  a  word,  attested  their  uniform  estimate  of  the  speaker. 
He  proceeded: 

"  That  is  the  question,  my  friends — why  are  we  here  assem- 
bled ?  I  answer,  for  the  good  of  the  people.  "We  are  here  to 
protect  them  if  we  can,  and  to  perish  for.  and  with  them,  if 
we  must.  I  cannot  forget  my  duties  to  my  country,  and  to 
those  in  whose  behalf  I  stand  before  the  hatchet  of  the  Indian, 


386  THE  YEMASSEE. 

and  the  cannon  of  the  Spaniard.  These  teach  me,  and  I 
would  teach  it  to  yon,  my  friends — to  fight,  to  hold  out  to  the 
last.  We  may  not  think  of  surrender,  my  friends,  until  other 
hope  is  gone.  Whatever  be  the  peril,  till  that  moment  be  it 
mine  to  encounter  it — whatever  be  the  privation,  till  that 
moment  I  am  the  man  to  endure  it.  Be  it  for  me,  at  least, 
though  I  stand  alone  in  this  particular,  to  do  for  the  people 
whatever  wisdom  or  valour  may  do  until  the  moment  comes 
which  shall  call  on  us  for  surrender.  The  question  now,  my 
friends,  is  simply  this — has  that  moment  come  or  not?  I 
pause  for  a  reply  ?  " 

"  Who  talks  of  surrender  ?  "  growled  the  smith,  as  he  cast 
a  glance  of  ferocity  at  the  speaker.  "  Who  talks  of  surrender 
at  all,  to  these  cursed  bloodhounds ;  the  red-skins  that  hunt 
for  nothing  but  our  blood  !  We  cannot  surrender  if  we  would 
— we  must  fight,  die,  do  anything  but  surrender !  " 

"  So  say  I — I  am  ready  to  fight  and  die  for  'my  country. 
I  say  it  now,  as  I  have  said  it  a  hundred  times  before,  but — " 
The  speech  which  Nichols  had  thus  begun,  the  smith  again 
interrupted  with  a  greater  bull-dog  expression  than  ever. 

"  Ay,  so  you  have,  and  so  will  say  a  hundred  times  more — 
with  as  little  sense  in  it  one  time  as  another.  We  are  all  here 
to  die,  if  there's  any  need  for  it;  but  that  isn't  the  trouble. 
It's  how  we  are  to  die — that's  the  question.  Are  we  to  stay 
here  and  be  burnt  to  death  like  timber-rats — to  sally  out  and 
be  shot,  or  to  volunteer,  as  I  do  now,  axe  in  hand,  to  go  out 
and  cut  down  the  pickets  that  immediately  join  the  house? 
By  that  we  may  put  a  stop  to  the  fire,  and  then  we  shall 
have  a  clear  dig  at  the  savages  that  lie  behind  them.  I'm 
for  that.  If  anybody's  willing  to  go  along  with  me,  let 
him  up  hands — no  talk — we  have  too  much  of  that  already." 

"  I'm  ready — here !  "  cried  Grayson,  and  his  hands  were 
thrust  up  at  the  instant. 

"  No,  Wat,"  cried  the  smith — "  not  you — you  must  stay 
and  manage  here.  Your  head's  the  coolest,  and  though  I'd 
sooner  have  your  arm  alongside  of  me  in  the  rough  time  than 
any  other  two  that  I  know  of,  'twould  not  do  to  take  you  from 
the  rest  on  this  risk.  Who  else  is  ready? — let  him  come  to 
the  scratch,  and  no  long  talk  about  it.  What  do  you  say, 
Nichols?  that's  chance  enough  for  you,  if  you  really  want 


THE  YEMASSEE.  387 

to  die  for  the  people/'  And  as  Grimstead  spoke,  he  thrust 
his  head  forward,  while  his  eyes  peered  into  the  very  bosom 
of  the  little  doctor,  and  his  axe  descended  to  the  joist  over 
which  he  stood  with  a  thundering  emphasis  that  rang  through 
the  apartment. 

"  I  can't  use  the  axe,"  cried  Nichols,  hurriedly.  "  It's  not 
my  instrument.  Sword  or  pistol  for  me.  In  their  exercise  I 
give  way  to  no  man,  and  in  their  use  I  ask  for  no  leader. 
But  I  am  neither  woodman  nor  blacksmith." 

"And  this  is  your  way  of  dying  for  the  good  of  the 
people!"  said  the  smith  contemptuously. 

"lam  willing  even  now — I  say  it  again,  as  I  have  before 
said,  and  as  now  I  solemnly  repeat  it.  But  I  must  die  for 
them  after  my  own  fashion,  and  under  proper  circumstances. 
With  sword  in  hand  crossing  the  perilous  breach — with 
weapon  befitting  the  use  of  a  noble  gentleman,  I  am  ready; 
but  I  know  not  any  rule  in  patriotism  that  would  require 
of  me  to  perish  for  my  country  with  the  broad  axe  of  a 
wood-chopper,  the  cleaver  of  a  butcher,  or  the  sledge  of  a 
blacksmith  in  my  hands." 

"  Well,  I'm  no'  soldier,"  retorted  the  smith ;  "  but  I  think 
a  man,  to  be  really  willing  to  die  for  his  country,  shouldn't 
be  too  nice  as  to  which  way  he  does  it.  Xow  the  sword  and 
the  pistol  are  of  monstrous  little  use  here.  The  muskets 
from  these  holes,  above  and  below,  will  keep  off  the  Indians, 
while  a  few  of  us  cut  down  the  stakes ;  so  now,  men,  as  time 
grows  short,  Grayson,  you  let  the  boys  keep  a  sharp  look 
out  with  the  ticklers,  and  I'll  for  the  timber,  let  him  follow 
who  will.  There  are  boys  enough,  I  take  it,  to  go  with  Dick 
Grimstead,  though  they  may  none  of  them  be  very  anxious 
to  die  for  their  country." 

Thus  saying,  and  having  received  the  sanction  of  Grayson 
to  this,  the  only  project  from  which  anything  could  be 
expected,  the  blacksmith  pushed  forward,  throwing  open  the 
door  leading  to  the  area  which  the  fire  in  great  part  now 
beleaguered — while  Grayson  made  arrangements  to  command 
the  group  with  his  musketry,  and  to  keep  the  entrance,  thus 
opened  for  Grimstead  and  his  party,  with  his  choicest  men. 
The  blacksmith  was  one  of  those  blunt,  burly  fellows,  who 
take  with  the  populace.     It  was  not  difficult  for  him  to  pro- 


388  THE  YEMASSEE. 

cure  three  men  where  twenty  were  ready.  They  had  listened 
with  much  sympathy  to  the  discussion  narrated,  and  as  the 
pomposity  and  assumption  of  Nichols  had  made  him  an 
object  of  vulgar  ridicule,  a  desire  to  rebuke  him,  not  less 
than  a  willingness  to  go  with  the  smith,  contributed  readily 
to  persuade  them  to  the  adventure.  In  a  few  moments  the 
door  was  unbarred,  and  the  party  sallied  forth  through  the 
entrance,  which  was  kept  ajar  for  their  ingress,  and  well 
watched  by  half  a  dozen  of  the  stoutest  men  in  the  garrison, 
Grayson  at  their  head.  Nichols  went  above  to  direct  the 
musket-men,  while  his  mind  busied  itself  in  conning  over 
the  form  of  capitulation,  which  he  thought  it  not  improbable 
that  he  should  have  to  frame  with  the  chiefs  of  the  besieging 
army.  In  this  labour  he  had  but  one  cause  of  vexation,  which 
arose  from  the  necessity  he  would  be  under,  in  enumerating 
the  prisoners,  of  putting  himself  after  Grayson,  the  com- 
mander. 

In  the  meanwhile,  with  sleeves  rolled  up,  jacket  off,  and 
face  that  seemed  not  often  to  have  been  entirely  free  from 
the  begriming  blackness  of  his  profession,  Grimstead  com- 
menced his  tremendous  blows  upon  the  contiguous  pickets, 
followed  with  like  zeal,  if  not  equal  power,  by  the  three  men 
who  had  volunteered  along  with  him.  Down  went  the  first 
post  beneath  his  arm,  and  as,  with  resolute  spirit,  he  was 
about  to  assail  another,  a  huge  Santee  warrior  stood  in  the 
gap  which  he  had  made,  and,  with  a  powerful  blow  from  the 
mace  which  he  carried — had  our  blacksmith  been  less  obser- 
vant— would  have  soon  finished  his  career.  But  Grimstead 
was  a  man  of  agility  as  well  as  strength  and  spirit,  and.  leap- 
ing aside  from  the  blow,  as  his  eye  rose  to  the  corresponding 
glance  from  that  of  his  enemy,  he  gave  due  warning  to  his 
axe-men,  who  forbore  their  strokes  under  his  command.  The 
aperture  was  yet  too  small  for  any  combat  of  the  parties; 
and,  ignorant  of  the  force  against  him,  surprised  also  at  its 
appearance,  he  despatched  one  of  his  men  to  Grayson,  and 
gave  directions,  which,  had  they  been  complied  with,  had 
certainly  given  the  advantage  to  the  garrison. 

"  Now,  boys,  you  shall  have  fun — I  have  sent  for  some 
hand-to-hand  men  to  do  the  fighting,  while  we  do  the  chop- 
ping,— and  Nichols,  who  loves  dying  so  much,  can't  help  com- 


THE  YEMASSEE.  389 

ing  along  with  them.  He's  the  boy  for  sword  and  pistol— 
he's  no  woodcutter.  Well,  many  a  better  chap  than  he's  had 
to  chop  wood  for  an  honest  living.  But  we'll  see  now  what 
he  is  good  for.     Let  him  come." 

"  Oh,  he's  all  flash  in  the  pan,  Grimstead.     His  tongue  is 
mustard-seed    enough,    but    'taint    the    shot.      But    what's 

that—?" 

The  speaker,  who  was  one  of  Grimstead's  comrades,  might 
well    ask,    for    first    a    crackling,    then    a    whirling    crash, 
announced  the  fall,  at  length,  of  the  huge  gate  to  the  entrance 
of  the  court.     A  volume  of  flame  and  cinders,  rising  with 
the  gust  which  it  created,  rushed  up,  obscuring  for  a  moment, 
and  blinding  all  things  around  it;  but,  as  it  subsided,  the 
Indians  lying  in  wait  on  the  outside  and  whom  no  smoke 
could  blind,   leaped   with   uplifted  tomahawks   through   the 
blazing  ruins,  and  pushed  forward  to  the  half -opened  entrance 
of  the  Block  House.     The  brave  blacksmith,  admirably  sup- 
ported, threw  himself  in  the  way,  and  was  singled  out  by 
the  huge  warrior  who  had  struck  at  him  through  the  picket. 
The  savage  was  brave  and  strong,  but  he  had  his  match  in 
the  smith,  whose  courage  was  indomitable  and  lively,  while 
his  strength  was  surpassed  by  that  of  few.    Wielding  his  axe 
with  a  degree  of  ease  that,  of  itself,  warned  the  enemy  what 
he  had  to  expect,  it  was  but  a  moment  before  the  Indian  gave 
way  before  him.     But  the  smith  was  not  disposed  to  allow  a 
mere  acknowledgment  of  his  superiority  to  pass  for  victory. 
He  pressed  him  back  upon  his  comrades,  while  his  own  three 
aids,  strong  and  gallant  themselves,  following  his  example, 
drove  the  intruders  upon  the  blaze  which  flamed  furiously 
around  them.     Already  had  a  severe  wound,  which  almost 
severed  the  arm  of  the  Santee  warrior  from  its  trunk,  con- 
firmed  the   advantage   gained   by   the    whites,   while    severe 
hatchet  wounds  had  diminished  not  a  little  the  courage  of  his 
Indian  fellows,  when,  of  a  sudden,  a  new  party  came  upon 
the  scene  of  combat,  changing  entirely  its  face  and  character, 
and  diminishing  still  more  the  chances  of  the  Carolinians. 

This  was  Chorley,  the  captain  of  the  pirate.  Having  lodged 
his  captives,  as  we  have  seen,  in  a  little  hovel  on  the  river's 
brink,  under  a  small  guard  of  his  own  seamen,  he  had  pro- 
ceeded with  all  due  speed  upon  the  steps  of  Ishiagaska.     He 


390  THE  YEMASSEE. 

arrived  opportunely  for  the  band  which  had  been  placed  along 
the  walls  of  the  Block  House,  in  ambush,  and  whose  daring 
had  at  length  carried  them  into  the  outer  defences  of  the 
fortress.  A  single  shot  from  one  of  his  men  immediately 
warned  the  smith  and  his  brave  comrades  of  the  new  enemy 
before  them,  and  while  stimulating  afresh  the  courage  of 
their  savage  assailants,  it  materially  diminished  their  own. 
They  gave  back — the  three  survivors — one  of  the  party  hav- 
ing fallen  in  the  first  discharge.  The  Indians  rushed  upon 
them,  and  thus  throwing  themselves  between,  for  a  time 
defeated  the  aim  of  Chorley's  musketeers.  Fighting  like  a 
lion,  as  he  retreated  to  the  door  of  the  Block  House,  the 
brave  smith  continued  to  keep  unharmed,  making  at  the  same 
time  some  little  employment  in  the  shape  of  ugly  wounds  to 
dress,  in  the  persons  of  his  rash  assailants.  Once  more  they 
gave  back  before  him,  and  again  the  musketry  of  Chorley 
was  enabled  to  tell  upon  him.  A  discharge  from  the  Block 
House  in  the  meantime  retorted  with  good  effect  the  attack 
of  the  sailors,  and  taught  a  lesson  of  caution  to  Chorley,  of 
which  he  soon  availed  himself.  Three  of  his  men  bit  the  dust 
in  that  single  fire;  and  the  Indians,  suffering  more  severely, 
fled  at  the  discharge.  The  brave  smith  reached  the  door  with 
a  single  unwounded  follower,  himself  unhurt.  His  com- 
rades threw  open  the  entrance  for  his  reception,  but  an  instant 
too  late.  A  parting  shot  from  the  muskets  of  the  seamen  was 
made  with  a  fatal  effect.  Grimstead  sank  down  upon  the 
threshold  as  the  bullet  passed  through  his  body — the  axe  fell 
from  his  hand — he  grasped  at  it  convulsively,  and  lay 
extended  in  part  upon  the  sill  of  the  door,  when  Grayson  drew 
him  in  safety  within,  and  again  securely  closed  it. 

"  You  are  not  hurt,  Dick,  my  old  fellow,"  exclaimed  Gray- 
son, his  voice  trembling  with  the  apprehensions  which  he  felt. 

"  Hurt  enough,  Wat — bad  enough.  No  more  grist  ground 
at  that  mill.  But,  hold  in — don't  be  frightened — you  can 
lick  'em  yet.     Ah,"  he  groaned  in  a  mortal  agony. 

They  composed  his  limbs,  and  pouring  some  spirits  down 
his  throat,  he  recovered  in  a  few  moments,  and  convulsively 
inquired  for  his  axe. 

"  I  wouldn't  lose  it — it  was  dad's  own  axe,  and  must  go  to 
brother  Tom  when  I  die." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  391 

"Die  indeed,  Dick — don't  speak  of  such  a  thing,"  said 
Grayson. 

"I  don't,  [Wat*]— I  leave  that  to  Nichols— but  get  the  axe 
— ah  !   God — it's  here — here — where's  Torn  ?  " 

His  brother,  a  youth  of  sixteen,  came  down  to  him  from 
the  upper  apartment  where  he  had  been  stationed,  and  kneel- 
ing over  him,  tried  to  support  his  head — but  the  blood  gashed 
in  a  torrent  from  his  mouth.  He  strove  to  speak,  but  choked 
in  the  effort.  A  single  convulsion,  which  turned  him  upon  his 
face,  and  the  struggle  was  all  over.  The  battles  of  the  smith 
were  done. 

*  In  former  editions  the  word  Hugh  is  used  here;  of  course, 
[Wa£]  is  meant. 


392  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

The  force  brought  up  by  the  younger  Grayson,  and  now  led 
by  Harrison,  came  opportunely  to  the  relief  of  the  garrison. 
The  flames  had  continued  to  rage,  unrestrained,  so  rapidly 
around  the  building,  that  its  walls  were  at  length  greedily 
seized  upon  by  the  furious  element,  and  the  dense  smoke, 
gathering  through  all  its  apartments,  was  alone  sufficient  to 
compel  the  retreat  of  its  defenders.  Nothing  now  was  left 
them  in  their  desperation  but  to  sally  forth  even  upon  the 
knives  and  hatchets  of  their  merciless  and  expecting  foe; 
and  for  this  last  adventure,  so  full  of  danger,  so  utterly 
wanting  in  a  fair  promise  of  any  successful  result,  the  sturdy 
foresters  prepared  themselves,  with  all  their  courage.  Fortun- 
ately for  this  movement,  it  was  just  about  this  period  that 
the  approach  of  Harrison,  with  his  party,  compelled  the 
besiegers  to  change  their  position,  in  order  the  better  to  con- 
tend with  him;  and,  however  reluctant  to  suffer  the  escape 
of  those  so  completely  in  their  power,  and  for  whose  destruc- 
tion they  had  already  made  so  man}r  sacrifices  of  time  and 
life,  they  were  compelled  to  do  so  in  the  reasonable  fear  of 
an  assault  upon  two  sides — from  the  garrison  before  them, 
impelled  by  desperation,  and  from  the  foe  in  their  rear, 
described  by  their  scouts  as  in  rapid  advance  to  the  relief  of 
the  Block  House.  The  command  was  shared  jointly  between 
Chorley  and  Ishiagaska.  The  former  had  fared  much  worse 
than  his  tawny  allies;  for,  not  so  well  skilled  in  the  artifices  of 
land  and  Indian  warfare,  seven  out  of  the  twenty  warriors 
whom  he  commanded  had  fallen  victims  in  the  preceding 
conflicts.  His  discretion  had  become  something  more  valua- 
ble, therefore,  when  reminded,  by  the  scanty  force  remain- 
ing under  his  command,  not  only  of  his  loss,  but  of  his 
present  weakness;  a  matter  of  no  little  concern,  as  he  well 
knew  that  his  Indian  allies,  in  their  capricious  desperation, 
might  not  be  willing  to  discriminate  between  the  whites  who 
had  befriended,  and  those  who  had  been  their  foes. 

Thus  counselled  by  necessity,  the  assailing  chiefs  drew  off 


THE  YEMASSEE.  393 

rneir  forces  from  the  Block  House,  and,  sinking  into  cover, 
prepared  to  encounter  their  new  enemies,  after  the  fashion 
of  their  warfare.  Ignorant,  in  the  meantime,  of  the  approach 
of  Harrison  or  the  force  under  him,  Grayson  wondered  much 
at  this  movement  of  the  besiegers,  of  which  he  soon  had  intelli- 
gence, and  instantly  prepared  to  avail  himself  of  the  privilege 
which  it  gave  to  the  garrison  of  flight.  He  called  his  little 
force  together,  and  having  arranged,  before  leaving  its  shelter, 
the  progress  and  general  movement  of  his  party,  he  care- 
fully placed  the  women  and  children  in  the  centre  of  his 
little  troop,  sallied  boldly  forth  into  the  woods,  conscious  of 
all  the  dangers  of  the  movement,  but  strengthened  with  all 
those  thoughts  of  lofty  cheer  with  which  the  good  Providence, 
at  all  times,  inspires  the  spirit  of  adventure,  in  the  hour  of 
its  trying  circumstance  [s].  There  was  something  of  pleasure 
in  their  very  release  from  the  confined  curcuit  of  the  Block 
House,  though  now  more  immediately  exposed  to  the  toma- 
hawk of  the  Indian;  and  with  the  pure  air,  and  the  absence 
of  restraint,  the  greater  number  of  the  foresters  grew  even 
cheerful  and  glad — a  change  of  mood  in  which  even  the 
women  largely  partook.  Some  few  indeed  of  the  more  Puri- 
tanical among  them,  disposed  to  think  themselves  the  especial 
charge  of  the  Deity,  and  holding  him  not  less  willing  than 
strong  to  save,  under  any  circumstances,  even  went  so  far 
as  to  break  out  into  -a  hymn  of  exultation  and  rejoicing, 
entirely  forgetting  the  dangers  still  hanging  around  them, 
and  absolutely  contending  warmly  with  Grayson  when  he 
undertook  to  restrain  them.  Xot  the  least  refractory  of  these 
was  his  own  mother,  who,  in  spite  of  all  he  could  say,  mouthed 
and  muttered  continually,  and  every  now  and  then  burst  forth 
into  starts  of  irrepressible  psalmody,  sufficient  to  set  the 
entire  tribe  of  Indians  unerringly  upon  their  track.  The 
remonstrance  of  Grayson  had  little  effect,  except  when  he 
reminded  her  of  his  younger  brother.  The  idolized  Hugh, 
and  his  will,  were  her  law  in  most  things.  Appealing  to  his 
authority  and  threatening  complaint  to  him,  he  succeeded  in 
making  her  silent — at  least  to  a  certain  extent.  Entire  silence 
was  scarcely  possible  with  the  old  dame,  who  likened  her 
escape  from  the  flaming  Block  House,  and,  so  far,  from  the 
hands  of  the  savage,  to  every  instance  of  Providential  deliver- 


394  THE  YEMASSEE. 

ance  she  had  ever  read  of  in  the  sacred  volume;  and  still, 
under  the  stimulus  of  such  a  feeling,  broke  out  every  now 
and  then,  with  sonorous  emphasis,  into  song,  from  an  old 
collection  of  the  period,  every  atom  of  which  she  had  famil- 
iarly at  the  end  of  her  tongue.  A  moment  had  not  well 
elapsed  after  the  first  suggestion  of  Grayson,  when,  as  if 
unconsciously,  she  commenced  again: — 

"  'The  Lord  doth  fight  the  foe  for  us, 
And  smite  the  heathen  down.' " 

"  Now,  mother,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  can't  you 
be  quiet  ?  " 

"  And  wherefore  should  we  not  send  up  the  hymn  of 
rejoicing  and  thanksgiving  for  all  his  mercies,  to  the  Father 
who  has  stood  beside  us  in  the  hour  of  peril?  Wherefore,  I 
ask  of  you,  Walter  Grayson?  Oh,  my  son,  beware  of  self- 
conceit  and  pride  of  heart;  and  because  you  have  here  com- 
manded earthly  and  human  weapons,  think  not,  in  the  vanity 
of  your  spirit,  that  the  victory  comes  from  such  as  these. 
The  Saviour  of  men,  my  son — it  is  he  that  has  fought  this 
fight.  It  is  his  sword  that  has  smitten  the  savage  hip 
and  thigh,  and  brought  us  free  out  of  the  land  of  bondage, 
even  as  he  brought  his  people  of  old  from  the  bondage  of  the 
Egyptians.  He  is  mighty  to  save,  and  therefore  should  we 
rejoice  with  an  exceeding  strong  voice." 

And  as  if  determined  to  sustain  by  her  own  example,  the 
proceeding  which  she  counselled,  her  lungs  were  tasked  to 
the  uttermost,  in  proclaiming — 

"  'The  Lord  he  comes  with  mighty  power, 
The  army  of  the  saints  is  there — 
He  speaks — '  " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  mother — hush  your  tongue — if  it  be 
in  you  to  keep  it  quiet  for  a  moment.  Let  it  rest  only  for  a 
little  while,  or  we  shall  all  be  scalped.  Wait  till  daylight, 
and  you  may  then  sing  to  your  heart's  content.  It  can't 
be  long  till  daylight,  and  you  can  then  begin,  but  not  till  then, 
or  we  shall  have  the  savages  on  our  track,  and  nothing  can 
save  us." 

"  Oh !  thou  of  little  faith— I  tell  thee,  Walter,  thou  hast 


THE  YEMASSEE.  395 

read  but  too  little  of  thy  Bible,  and  dependest  too  much  upon 
the  powers  of  earth — all  of  which  are  wicked  and  vain 
defences.  Put  thy  trust  in  God ;  he  is  strong  to  save.  Under 
his  hand  I  fear  not  the  savage — for,  does  he  not  tell  us — " 
and  she  quavered  again : — 

"  'Unfold  thine  eye  and  see  me  here, 
I  do  the  battle  for  the  just, 
My   people   nothing   have   to   fear — ' " 

"  Mother,  in  the  name  of  common  sense."  But  she  went 
on  with  double  fervour,  as  if  furious  with  the  interruption : — 

"'If  faithful   in   my  word—'" 

"  Mother,  mother,  I  say — "  But  she  was  bent  seemingly 
to  finish  the  line  : — 

"  ' they  trust,'  " 

"  Was  there  ever  such  an  obstinate !     I  say,  mother — " 

"Well,  my  son?" 

"Are  you  my  mother?" 

"  Of  a  certainty,  I  am.  What  mean  you  by  that  ques- 
tion,  Walter?" 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  my  scalp  dangling  upon  the  long  pole 
of  a  savage  ?  " 

"  God  forbid,  Walter,  my  son.  Did  I  not  bear  thee — did  I 
net  suffer  for  thee  ?  " 

"Then,  if  you  do  not  really  desire  to  see  me  scalped,  put 
some  stop  on  your  tongue,  and  move  along  as  if  death  lay 
under  every  footstep.  If  the  savages  surround  us  now,  we 
are  gone,  every  mother's  son  of  us — and  all  the  saints,  unless 
they  are  accustomed  to  Indian  warfare,  can  do  nothing  in  our 
behalf." 

"  Speak  not  irreverently,  son  Walter.  The  saints  are 
blessed  mediators  for  the  sinner,  and  may  move  eternal  mercy 
to  save.  Have  they  not  fought  for  us  already  to-night — and 
are  we  not  saved  by  their  ministry  from  the  bloody  hands  of 
tbe  savage  ?  " 

"  No — it's  by  our  own  hands,  and  our  own  good  handi- 
work, mother.  I  owe  the  saints  no  thanks,  and  shall  owe  you 
still  less,  unless  you  stop  that  howling." 


396  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  Oh,  Father,  forgive  him,  he  knows  not  what  he  says — he 
is  yet  in  the  bondage  of  sin — "  and  she  hymned  her  prayer 
from  her  collection : — 

"  'Strike  not  the  sinner  in  his  youth, 
But  bear  him  in  thy  mercy  on, 
'Till  in  the  path  of  sacred  truth, 
He  sees — '  " 

"  Mother,  if  yon  do  not  hush  up,  I  will  tell  Hugh  of  your 
obstinacy.    He  shall  know  how  little  you  mind  his  counsel." 

"Well,  well,  Walter,  my  son,  I  am  done.  Thou  art  too 
hasty,  I'm  sure. — Oh,  bless  me — " 

Her  speech  was  cut  short  by  a  sudden  and  fierce  whoop  of 
the  Indians,  followed  by  the  huzzas  of  the  whites  at  a  greater 
distance,  and  the  rapid  fire  of  musketry,  scattered  widely 
along  the  whole  extended  range  of  forest  around  them. 

"  Down,  down,  all  of  you,  on  your  knees — one  and  all — " 
was  the  cry  of  Grayson  to  his  party;  and,  accustomed  to 
most  of  the  leading  difficulties  and  dangers  of  such  a  fight, 
the  order  was  obeyed,  as  if  instinctively,  by  all  except  Dame 
Grayson,  who  inflexibly  maintained  her  position,  and  refused 
to  move,  alleging  her  objection  to  any  prostration  except  for 
the  purposes  of  prayer.  Maddened  by  her  obstinacy,  Grayson, 
with  very  little  scruple,  placing  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder, 
bore  her  down  to  the  earth,  exclaiming, — 

"  Then  say  your  prayers,  mother — do  any  thing  but  thwart 
what  you  cannot  mend." 

Thus  humbled,  the  party  crept  along  more  closely  into 
cover,  until,  at  a  spot  where  the  trees  were  clustered  along 
with  underwood  into  something  like  a  copse,  Grayson  ordered 
a  halt,  and  proceeded  to  arrange  his  men  and  their  weapons 
for  active  conflict.  The  war  approached  at  intervals,  and 
an  occasional  shot  whistled  over  the  heads  of  the  party,  con- 
clusively proving  the  necessity  of  iheir  position.  The  Indians 
seemed  to  lie  betwixt  them  and  the  advancing  Carolinians; 
and  perceiving  this  to  be  the  case,  Grayson  threw  the  non- 
combatants  under  shelter  in  such  a  manner  as  to  interpose 
those  who  could  fight  in  the  way  of  the  coming  red  men, 
in  the  event  of  their  being  driven  back  upon  them.  His 
party,  in  the  meanwhile,  well  prepared,  lay  quietly  under 


THE  YEMASSEE.  397 

cover,  and  with  their  weapons  read)'  to  take  advantage  of  any 
such  event. 

Harrison,  as  we  may  remember,  had  taken  the  command  of 
the  greater  body  of  the  force  which  had  been  brought  up 
through  the  industrious  and  prodigious  exertions  of  Hugh 
Grayson.     This  young  man,  stung  and  mortified  as  he  had 
been  by  the  rebuke  of  Bess  Matthews,  with  a  degree  of  mental 
concentration,    rather    indicative    of    his    character — though 
hopeless  of  those  affections,  which  of  all  other  human  hopes 
he  had  most  valued — had  determined  to  do  himself  justice 
by  doing  his  duty.     Throwing  aside,  therefore,  as  well  as  he 
might,  the  passionate  mood  which  was  active  in  his  soul,  he 
had  gone  forth  from  the  house  of  the  pastor,  resolute  to  make 
every  exertion  in  procuring  a  force  which  might  protect  the 
family  from  an  attack,  which  he  had  at  length  learned,  as 
well   as    Harrison,   greatly   to    apprehend.      His    pride    sug- 
gested to  him  the  gratification  of  saving  the  life  of  her  who 
had  scorned  him,  as   an  honourable  revenge,  not  less  than 
a  fair  blotting  out  of  those  errors  of  which,  on  her  account, 
he  had  suffered  himself  to  be  guilty.     His  efforts,   so  far, 
had  been  crowned  with  success;  but  he  had  come  too  late 
for  his  prime  object.     The  dwelling  of  the  pastor  had  been 
sacked  before  his  arrival,  and,  like  Harrison,  he  was  under 
the  most  horrible  apprehensions  for  her  safety.     The  latter 
person  came  upon  him  opportunely,  in  time  to  keep  him  from 
fallins:  into  the  ambuscade  through  which  he  had  himself 
so  singularly  passed  in  safety — and  with  more  knowledge  of 
Indian  strife,  Harrison  took  the  command  of  a  party  which 
confided  fully  to  his  skill,  and,  of  necessity,  with  a  courage 
heightened  proportionably  when  under  his  direction. 

The  cautious  yet  bold  management  of  Harrison  soon  gave 
him  the  advantage.  The  foresters,  guided  by  him,  each  took 
his  tree  after  the  manner  of  the  Indians,  and  with  the  advan- 
tage of  weapons  more  certain  to  kill,  and  equally,  if  not  more 
certain,  in  aim.  Apart  from  this,  the  Carolinian  woodman 
knew  enough  of  the  savages  to  know  that  they  were  no 
opponents,  generally  speaking,  to  be  feared  in  a  trial  of 
respective  muscular  strength.  The  life  of  the  hunter  fits  him 
to  endure  rather  than  to  contend.  The  white  borderer  was 
taught  by  his  necessities  to  do  both.     He  could  wield  the  axe 


398  THE  YEMASSEE. 

and  overthrow  the  tree — a  labour  to  which  the  Indian  is 
averse.     He  could  delve  and  dig,  and  such  employment  was 
a  subject  of  scorn  and  contempt  with  the  haughty  aboriginal 
warrior.    At  the  same  time,  he  practised  the  same  wanderings 
and  the  same  felicity  of  aim,  and  in  enduring  the  toils  of 
the  chase,  he  was  fairly  the  equal  of  his  tawny  but  less  enter- 
prising   neighbour.      The    consciousness    of   these   truths — a 
consciousness  soon  acquired  from  association — was  not  less 
familiar  to  the  Indian  than  to  the  Carolinian ;  and  the  former, 
in  consequence,  despaired  of  success  usually  when  required  to 
oppose  the  white  man  hand  to  hand.     His  hope  was  in  the 
midnight  surprise — in  the  sudden  onslaught — in  the  terror 
inspired  by  his  fearful  whoop — and  in  the  awful  scalp-song 
with  which  he  approached,  making  the  imagination  of  his 
foe  an  auxiliar  to  his  own,  as  he  told  him  how  he  should 
rend  away  the  dripping  locks  from  his  skull,  while  his  eyes 
swam  in  darkness,  and  the  pulses  were  yet  nickering  at  his 
heart. 

From  cover  to  cover — from  tree  to  tree — the  individual 
Carolinians  rushed  on  against  their  retreating  enemies.  In 
this  manner  the  fight  became  somewhat  pell-mell,  and  the 
opponents  grew  strangely  mingled  together.  Still,  as  each 
was  busy  with  his  particular  enemy,  no  advantage  could 
well  be  taken  of  the  circumstance  on  either  side;  and  the 
hatchets  of  the  individual  combatants  clashed  under  neigh- 
bouring trees,  and  their  knives  were  uplifted  in  the  death- 
struggle  over  the  same  stump,  without  any  hope  of  assistance 
from  their  friends  in  any  form  of  their  difficulty. 

In  this  general  state  of  things,  there  was  one  exception  in 
the  case  of  Harrison  himself.  He  was  approached  resolutely 
in  the  course  of  the  conflict  by  a  Coosaw  warrior — a  man  of 
inferior  size,  even  with  his  tribe,  the  individuals  of  which 
were  generally  diminutive.  The  dark  eye  of  the  swarthy  foe, 
as  he  advanced  upon  Harrison,  was  lighted  up  with  a 
malignant  audacity,  to  be  understood  only  by  a  reference  to 
the  history  of  his  people.  That  people  were  now  almost 
exterminated.  He  was  one  of  the  few  survivors — a  chief — 
a  bold,  brave  man — subtle,  active,  and  distinguished  for  his 
skill  as  a  warrior  and  hunter.  He  recognised  in  Harrison 
the  renowned  Coosah-moraij-te — the  leader  of  the  force  which 


THE  YEMASSEE.  399 

had  uprooted  his  nation,  and  had  driven  his  warriors  to  the 
degrading  necessity  of  merging  their  existence  as  a  people 
with  that  of  a  neighbouring  tribe.     The  old  feeling  of  hi3 
country,  and  a  former  war,  was  at  work  in  his  bosom,  and 
through  all  the  mazes  of  the  conflict  he  steadily  kept  his  eye 
on  the  course  of  Harrison.     He  alone  sought  him — he  alone 
singled  him  out  for  the  fight.     For  a  long  time,  the  nature 
of  the  struggle   had  prevented  their  meeting;  but  he  now 
approached  the  spot  where  Harrison  stood,  holding  at  bay  a 
tall  Chestatee  warrior  from  the  interior  of  Georgia.     The 
Chestatee  was  armed  with  the  common  war-club,  and  had  no 
other  weapon.     This  weapon  is  chiefly  useful  when  confusion 
has  been  Introduced  by  the  bowmen  into  the  ranks  of  an 
enemy.     It  is  about  two  feet  in  length,  and  bears  at  its  end, 
and  sometimes  at  both  ends,  a  cross-piece  of  iron,  usually 
without   any   distinct   form,   but   sometimes   resembling   the 
blade  of  a  spear,  and  not  unfrequently  that  of  a  hatchet. 
Harrison  was  armed  with  a  sword,  and  had  besides,  in  his 
possession,  the  knife — the  same  broad,  cimeter-like  weapon — 
which  had  been  given  him  by  Hatiwan  in  his  flight  from 
Pocota-ligo.     His  rifle,  which  he  had  not  had  time  to  reload, 
leaned  against  a  tree,   at  the  foot  of  which   stood  Hector, 
with  difficulty  restraining,   and  keeping  back,  with   all  his 
might,  the  impatient  dog  Dugdale,  which,  by  his  master's 
orders,  he  had  re-muzzled.     This  had  been  done  in  order  to 
his  safety.    It  was  only  in  pursuit  that  his  services  would  have 
been  of  avail ;  for  though  he  might  be  of  use  in  the  moment 
of  strife,  the  chances  were  that  he  would  have  been  shot. 
Thus  reposing,  Hector  was  enabled  to  see  the  approach  of 
the  Coosaw,  and  by  an  occasional  exhibition  of  his  own  person 
and  that  of  the  dog,  to  deter  him  from  the  attack  which  he 
had  long  meditated.    But  the  strife  between  Harrison  and  the 
Chestatee  was  about  to  cease.     That  warrior,  aiming  a  fierce 
blow  at  the  person  of  his  enemy,  drove  the  spear-head  of  hi? 
club  into  the  tree,  and  failing  at  the  moment  to  disengage  it, 
fell  a  victim  to  the  quicksightedness  of  his  opponent.    Harri- 
son's sword  in  that  instant  was  sheathed  in  the  bosom  of  the 
Chestatee,  who,  as  he  received  the  wound,  sprang  upwards 
from  the  ground,  snapping  the  slender  weapon  short  at  the 
hilt,  the  blade  still  remaining  buried  in  his  body.     Harrison 


400  THE  YEMASSEE. 

drew  his  knife,  and  having  for  some  time  seen  the  purpose  of 
the  Coosaw,  he  fortunately  turned  to  meet  him  at  the  very 
instant  of  his  approach.  Something  surprised  at  the  fearless- 
ness with  which  his  enemy  advanced  to  the  conflict,  he  spoke  to 
him.,  as  they  both  paused  at  a  few  paces  from  each  other. 

"  Thou  art  a  Coosaw," — exclaimed  Harrison, — "  I  know 
thee." 

"  Chinnabee  is  the  last  chief  of  the  Coosaw.  He  wants 
blood  for  his  people." 

"  Thou  knowest  me,  then  ?  "  said  Harrison. 

"  Coosah-moray-te! '"  was  the  simple  response;  and  the 
dark  eye  glared,  and  the  teeth  of  the  savage  gnashed  like 
those  of  the  hungered  wolf,  as  the  name  stirred  up  all  the 
recollections  in  his  mind,  of  that  war  of  extermination  which 
the  warrior  before  him  had  waged  against  his  people. 

"  A}7 — the  Coosah-moray-te  is  before  thee.  Would  Chinna- 
bee follow  his  people?"  exclaimed  the  Englishman. 

"  Chinnabee  would  have  much  blood  for  his  people.  He 
would  drink  blood  from  the  skull  of  Coosah-moray-te — he 
would  show  the  scalp  of  the  Coosah-moray-te  to  the  warriors 
of  Coosaw,  that  wait  for  him  in  the  Happy  Valley." 

"  Thou  shalt  have  no  scalp  of  mine,  friend  Chinnabee. 
I'm  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  I  must — I  can't  spare  it. 
Come  !  I  know  you  of  old  for  a  cunning  snake — a  snake  lying 
in  the  dried  bush.  The  foot  of  the  Coosah-moray-te  will 
trample  on  thy  head." 

Harrison  spoke  fearlessly,  for  who,  contrasting  the  appear- 
ance of  the  two,  would  haATe  thought  the  contest  doubtful? 
The  Indian  was  scarcely  over  five  feet  in  height,  slender,  and 
not  well  set;  while  his  opponent,  fully  six  feet  in  height,  a 
fine  specimen  of  symmetrical  manhood,  seemed  able  to  crush 
him  with  a  finger.  The  Coosaw  simply  responded  with  some- 
thing like  a  smile  of  scorn, — throwing  himself  at  the  same 
moment  like  a  ball  at  the  feet  of  his  enemy — 

"  Good ! — the  snake  is  in  the  bush.  Look !  Coosah- 
moray-te — put  the   foot   on  his  head." 

The  Englishman  looked  down  upon  him  with  something  of 
surprise  mingled  in  with  his  contempt,  and  made  no  show 
of  assault;  but  he  was  too  well  acquainted  with  Indian  trick 
and  manoeuvre  to  be  thrown  off  his  guard  by  this  movement. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  401 

Curious  to  see  what  would  be  the  next  effort  of  one  who  had 
studiously  singled  him  out,  he  watched  him  carefully,  and 
the  Indian,  something  balked  that  the  enemy  had  not  taken 
him  at  his  word  and  approached  him  while  in  his  prostrate 
condition,  slowly  uncoiled  himself  from  his  fold,   and  had 
partially  regained  his  feet,  when  Harrison,  who  had  been 
looking  for  him  fully  to  do  so,  was  surprised  in  the  next 
moment  to  find  his  wily  enemy  directly  between  his  legs. 
The  suddenness  of  such  a  movement,   though  it  failed  to 
throw  him,  as  the  Coosaw  had  calculated,  yet  disordered  his 
position  not  a  little;  and  before  he  could  strike  a  blow,  or  do 
more  than  thrust  one  of  his  feet  down  upon  him,  his  active 
adversary  had  passed  from  his  reach,  having  made  a  desperate 
effort  with  his  knife  to  hamstring  his  adversary,  as  he  leaped 
aside   and   turned   suddenly   upon   him.      The    rapidity    of 
Harrison's  movement  alone  saved  him,  though,  even  then,  not 
entirely,  since  the  knife  grazed  his  leg,  inflicting  a  sharp, 
though  not  dangerous  wound.     He  barely  turned  in  time  to 
meet  the  preparations  of  the  Coosaw  for  a  second  assault  of 
similar  character;  and  something  more  ready  at  this  novel 
mode  of  attack,  and  vexed  at  its  partial  success,  Harrison 
looked  with  some  impatience  for  his  enemy's  approach,  and 
felt  a  thrill  of  fierce  delight  as  he  saw  him  leave  with  a 
bound  the  spot  upon  which  he  stood.     Sinking  upon  his  knee 
as  the  savage  rolled  towards  him,  he  presented  his  knife,  edge 
upwards,  to  his  advance.    What  was  his  surprise  to  find  that 
in  so  stooping,  he  had  only  evaded  a  blow  upon  his  bosom, 
which,  from  his  position,  and  the  direction  which  the  Indian 
pursued,  had  he  stood,  the  heels  of  his  foe  would  certainly 
have  inflicted. 

He  saw  from  this  that  he  must  now  become  the  assailant; 
particularly  as  he  perceived  that  his  men  were  successfully 
pressing  upon  the  enemy  in  every  direction,  and  that  the 
battle  was  progressing  towards  the  river,  and  between  it  and 
the  Block  House.  Active  as  most  men,  Harrison  was  also  a 
man  of  ready  decision;  and  with  the  thought  came  the  execu- 
tion. With  a  bound  he  grappled  the  Coosaw,  who  had  not 
looked  for  an  attack  so  sudden,  and  no  doubt  had  been 
fatigued  by  previous  efforts.  Harrison  drove  him  back 
against  a  tree  with  all  the  muscle  of  an  extended  arm,  and 


402  THE  YEMASSEE. 

thus  forced  the  combat  upon  him  on  his  own  terms.  But 
even  then  the  subtlety  of  the  savage  did  not  fail  him. 
He  evaded  the  grasp,  and  contrived  to  double  once  or  twice 
completely  under  the  body  of  his  opponent,  until,  exasperated 
by  his  pertinacity  not  less  than  at  the  agility  with  which  the 
Indian  eluded  him,  without  stooping  to  where  he  wriggled 
like  a  snake  around  him,  the  Englishman  leaped  upon  him 
with  both  feet,  striking  his  heel  securely  down  upon  the  nar- 
row of  his  sinuous  back,  and  in  this  way  fastening  him  to  the 
earth.  In  another  instant  and  the  knife  would  have  finished 
the  combat,  when  the  conqueror  received  a  severe  blow  with 
a  club,  upon  his  shoulder,  from  some  unseen  hand,  which 
completely  staggered  him;  and  before  he  could  recover,  he 
was  confronted  by  another  warrior  of  the  Coosaws,  crying  to 
him  in  his  own  language  in  the  exultation  of  success  deemed 
secure,  and  thus  cheering  his  prostrate  chief,  Chinnabee — 

"  Coosah-moray-te,—I  drink  his  blood,  I  tear  his  throat,  I 
have  his  scalp — I  hear  his  groan — Hi-chai ! — 'tis  a  dog  for 
Opitchi-Manneyto ! » 

At  the  cry,  his  former  opponent  rose  from  the  ground,  not  so 
much  injured  but  that  he  could  recommence  the  battle.  They 
advanced  at  the  same  moment  upon  the  Englishman,  though 
from  different  quarters.  They  came  upon  him  with  all  their 
subtlety  and  caution,  for  the  two  together  could  scarce  have 
contended  with  the  superior  strength  of  Harrison.  Taking 
his  tree,  he  prepared  for  the  worst;  and  with  his  left  arm 
so  severely  paralysed  by  the  blow  that  he  could  do  little  more 
than  throw  it  up  in  defence,  he  yet  held  a  good  heart,  and 
while  he  saw  with  what  malignity  the  two  Coosaws  had  sin- 
gled him  out,  he  had  hope  to  meet  them  individually  by  the 
exercise  of  some  of  those  adroit  arts  which  he  too  could 
employ  not  less  than  the  savage.  But  he  was  spared  this  trial. 
The  very  instant  of  their  simultaneous  approach,  a  gun-shot 
from  the  rear  brought  down  the  second  assailant.  The  sur- 
vivor, Chinnabee,  as  if  exasperated  beyond  reason  at  the  event, 
now  precipitated  himself  forward,  tomahawk  in  hand,  upon 
his  foe;  was  foiled  by  the  ready  agility  which  encountered 
him,  put  aside,  and  almost  in  the  same  instant  hurled  like  a 
stone  to  the  ground  by  the  now  fully  aroused  Englishman. 

"Coosaw — thou   art  the   last  chief   of  thy   people.     The 


THE  YEMASSEE.  403 

cunning  serpent  will  die  by  the  Coosah-moray-te,  like  the 
rest/'  said  Harrison,  addressing  the  conquered  savage,  who 
lay  motionless,  but  still  alive,  at  his  feet. 

"The  Coosah-moray-te  will  strike.  Chinnabee  is  the  last 
chief  of  the  Coosaw— his  people  have  gone— they  wait  for  him 
with  the  cry  of  a  bird.    Let  the  pale-face  strike.    Ah !  ha!  " 

The  knife  was  in  his  heart.  Vainly  the  eyes  rolled  in  a 
fruitless  anger— the  teeth  fixed  for  ever,  while  gnashing  in 
fury,  in  the  death  spasm.  A  short  groan— a  word,  seemingly 
of  song— and  the  race  of  the  Coosaws  was  for  ever  ended. 

Harrison  rose  and  looked  round  for  the  person  whose  timely 
shot  had  saved  him  from  the  joint  attack  of  the  two  warriors. 
He  discovered  him  advancing  in  the  person  of  Hector,  who. 
having  fastened  Dugdale  to  a  sapling,  had  reloaded  the 
musketoon*  of  his  master,  and  by  his  intervention  at  the 
proper  moment,  had  no  doubt  preserved  his  life.  Unaccus- 
tomed, however,  to  the  use  of  gunpowder,  the  black  had  over- 
charged the  piece,  and  the  recoil  had  given  him  a  shock  which, 
at  the  moment,  he  was  certain  could  not  have  been  a  jot  less 
severe  than  that  which  it  inflicted  upon  the  Coosaw  he  had 
slain.  His  jaws  ached,  he  bitterly  alleged,  whenever,  years 
after,  he  detailed  the  fight  with  the  Yemassee  on  the  banks 
of  the  Pocota-ligo. 

"  Hector— thou  hast  saved  my  life,"  said  Harrison,  as  he 
came  up  to  him. 

"  I  berry  glad,  maussa,"  was  the  natural  reply. 
"Where's  Dugdale?" 

"  In  de  tree — I  hook  'em  wid  rope,  when  I  load  for  shoot 
de  Injin." 

"  Bring  him,  and  set  him  loose." 

The  black  did  as  he  was  told,  and  harking  him  on  the 
track  of  the  flving  Indians,  Harrison  seized  and  reloaded  his 
rifle,  while  Hector  possessed  himself  of  a  knife  and  hatchet 
which  he  picked  up  upon  the  field.  They  then  proceeded  hastily 
to  overtake  the  Carolinians,  who,  at  a  little  distance,  were 
pressing  upon  the  retreating  enemy.  Harrison  came  m  time 
to  give  his  influence  and  energy  where  they  were  most  needed. 

*"  A  light,  short  hand-gun  used  hy  cavalrymen  (17th  and  18th 
centuries) ." — Standard  Dictionary. 


404  THE  YEMASSEE. 

The  flying  force  was  met  and  strengthened  by  the  party  from 
the  Block  House,  under  Ishiagaska  and  the  pirate,  and  the 
fight  commenced  anew — a  sort  of  running  fight,  however,  for 
the  Indians  grew  weary  of  a  contest  in  which  they  had  none 
of  those  advantages  of  number  or  circumstance  which  usually 
encourage  them  to  war ;  and  so  trifling  was  the  force  of  whites 
now  remaining  with  them  under  Chorley,  that  their  presence 
rather  induced  despondency  than  hope.  The  pirate  himself 
was  much  discouraged  by  the  nature  of  the  strife,  for  which 
he  did  not  dream  that  the  Carolinians  would  have  been  so 
well  prepared;  and  the  loss  which  he  had  sustained,  so  dis- 
proportioned  to  his  force,  had  not  a  little  exaggerated  his 
discontent.  His  disquiet  was  destined  to  find  still  further 
increase  in  the  new  assault ;  two  more  of  his  men,  not  so  well 
sheltered  as  they  should  have  been,  or  more  venturous,  having 
been  shot  down  near  a  tree  immediately  adjoining  that  behind 
which  he  stood;  and,  though  the  Indians  still  continued  to 
fight,  he  saw  that  they  could  not  be  encouraged  to  do  so  long ; 
as,  even  if  successful  in  killing,  they  had  no  opportunity  of 
obtaining  the  scalps  of  the  slain,  the  best  evidence  with  them 
of  their  triumph.  The  Carolinians  still  pressed  on,  their 
numbers  greatly  increased  by  the  presence  of  several  slaves, 
who,  volunteering  even  against  the  will  of  their  masters,  had 
armed  themselves  with  knives  or  clubs,  and,  by  their  greater 
numbers,  held  forth  a  prospect  of  ultimately  hemming  in  the 
smaller  force  of  their  enemy.  This  was  an  ally  upon  which 
the  Spaniards  had  largely  counted.  They  had  no  idea  of  that 
gentler  form  of  treatment  which,  with  the  Carolinians,  won 
the  affections  of  their  serviles;  and,  knowing  no  other  prin- 
ciple in  their  own  domestic  government  than  that  of  fear, 
and  assured  of  the  instability  of  any  confidence  built  upon 
such  a  relationship  between  the  ruler  and  the  serf,  they 
had  miscalculated  greatly  when  they  addressed  their  bribes 
and  promises  to  the  negroes,  as  well  as  to  the  Indians  of 
Carolina.  But  few  joined  them — the  greater  number,  vol- 
unteering for  their  owners,  were  taken  actually  into  the 
employment  of  the  colony,  and  subsequently  rewarded  in 
proportion  to  their  services  and  merits. 

The  engagement  became  a  flight.     From  point  to  point 
the  Carolinians  pursued  their  enemy — Chorley  the  seaman, 


THE  YEMASSEE.  405 

and  Ishiagaska,  alone  endeavouring,  by  the  most  ardent  effort, 
to  stimulate  the  courage  of  their  followers,  and  maintain  a 
show  of  fight.  But  in  vain.  The  whites  pressed  closely 
upon  the  heels  of  the  fugitive,  who  were  at  length  suddenly 
brought  up  by  a  severe  fire,  directly  upon  their  path,  from 
the  concealed  party  under  Grayson.  This  completed  their 
panic;  and  each  darting  in  the  direction  given  him  by  his 
fears,  sought  for  individual  safety.  There  was  no  longer 
the  form  of  a  battle  array  among  them,  and  the  negroes 
cleared  the  woods  with  their  clubs,  beating  out  the  brains  of 
those  whom  they  overtook,  almost  without  having  any  resist- 
ance offered  them.  The  day  dawned  upon  the  forest,  and 
every  step  of  the  route  taken  by  the  combatants  was  designated 
by  blood. 


406  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTER   XLIX. 

The  night  of  storm  had  been  one  of  great  brightness  and 
natural  beauty.  Not  less  beautiful  and  bright  was  the  day 
by  which  it  was  followed.  The  sun  rose  clearly  and  beauti- 
fully over  the  scattered  bands  of.  the  forest.  The  Indians 
were  fairly  defeated,  Ishiagaska  slain,  and  Chorley,  the  pirate, 
uninfluenced  by  any  of  those  feelings  of  nationality  which 
governed  the  native  red  men,  which  would  have  prompted 
him  to  a  desperate  risk  of  his  own  person  in  a  struggle  so 
utterly  unlooked-for,  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  final  and  complete 
character  of  the  defeat,  silently  withdrew,  with  his  few 
remaining  followers,  from  farther  conflict.  He  had  another 
care  upon  his  hands  besides  that  of  his  own  safety.  There 
was  one  reward — one  spoil — with  which  he  consoled  himself 
for  his  disaster — and  that  was  Bess  Matthews.  She  was  in 
his  power ! 

Filled  with  fierce  passion,  as  he  thought  of  her,  he  took  his 
way,  unseen  by  the  victorious  Carolinians,  towards  the  little 
cot  on  the  river's  edge,  in  which  he  had  left  his  prisoners. 
Circumstances  had  materially  altered  from  what  they  were 
at  the  time  when  they  became  so.  He  was  no  longer  able  to 
control,  with  an  imposing  and  superior  force,  the  progress, 
either  of  his  Indian  allies  or  of  his  Carolinian  enemies.  He 
had  not  foreseen,  any  more  than  the  Yemassees,  the  state  of 
preparation  in  which  the  settlers  about  the  Pocota-ligo  had 
met  the  invasion.  He  had  looked  to  find  invasion  and  con- 
quest one — and  had  never  dreamed  of  opposition,  much  less 
of  a  defence  which  would  prove  so  completely  successful.  The 
energies  of  a  single  man,  his  address,  farsightedness,  and  cir- 
cumspection, had  done  all  this.  To  the  perseverance  and 
prudence  of  Harrison — his  devotedness  to  the  cause  he  had 
undertaken — the  borderers  owed  their  safety.  But  of  this  the 
pirate  chief  knew  nothing;  and,  anticipating  no  such  provi- 
dent management,  he  had  fearlessly  leagued  himself  with 
the  savages,  stimulated  by  passions  as  sanguinary  as  theirs, 
and  without  that  redeeming  sense  of  national  character  and 


THE  YEMASSEE.  407 

Reeling — that  genuine  love  of  country — which  not  only 
accounted  for,  but  exculpated  the  people  of  whom  he  was 
the  unworthy  ally.  But  he  had  lost  all  that  he  came  for — 
all  objects  but  one.  His  best  followers  had  fallen  victims— his 
hope  of  spoil  had  in  great  part  been  defeated,  and  though  he 
had  shed  blood,  the  quantity  was  as  nothing  to  one  with 
whom  such  had  been  a  familiar  indulgence.  Yet,  with  a 
voluptuous  appetite,  he  had  won  a  prize  which  promised  him 
enjoyment,  if  it  could  not  compensate  his  losses.  The  beauti- 
ful Bess  Matthews— the  young,  the  budding,  the  sweet.  She 
was  in  his  power — a  trembling  dove  in  the  grasp  of  the  fowler. 
The  thought  was  as  so  much  fire  to  his  fancy,  and  he  sought 
the  cottage  in  which  he  had  secured  her,  with  a  fierce  and 
feverish  thirst — a  brutal  sense  at  work  in  his  mind — stimulat- 
ing him  to  an  utter  disregard  of  humanity,  and  prompting 
the  complete  violation  of  all  ties  of  kindred,  as  he  meditated 
to  tear  her  away  from  the  bosom  of  her  parents. 

About  a  mile  from  the  hovel  in  which  the  family  of  the 
pastor  was  immured  lav  the  guar  da-cost  a.  There  was  an  air 
of  bustle  on  board  of  her,  in  the  unreefing  of  sails,  and  the 
waving  and  rustling  of  her  ropes.  The  tide  of  battle  had 
alternated  from  spot  to  spot  along  the  banks  of  the  river— 
now  lost  in  the  density  of  the  forest,  and  now  swelling,  with 
all  its  clamours,  along  the  bosom  of  the  water.  The  firing 
had  alarmed  all  parties,  the  seamen  remaining  on  board,  not- 
less  than  the  old  pastor  and  his  timid  wife  and  trembling 
daughter,  who,  only  conscious  of  the  struggle,  and  not  of  its 
results,  were  filled  with  a  thousand  tearful  anticipations. 

To  Bess  Matthews,  however,  the  strife  brought  with  it  a 
promise,  since  it  proved  that  the  Carolinians  were  prepared, 
in  part  at  least,  for  their  invaders— and  many  were  the 
fluctuations  of  hope  and  fear  in  her  soul,  as  the  gathering 
clamour  now  approached  and  now  receded  in  the  distance. 
Love  taught  her  that  Harrison  was  the  leader  making  such 
bold  head  against  the  enemy.  Love  promised  her,  as  the 
battle  dissipated,  that  he  would  come  and  rescue  her  from  a 
position  in  which  she  did  not  well  know  whether  to  regard 
herself  as  a  captive  to  the  seaman,  or  as  one  owing  him 
gratitude  for  her  own  and  the  preservation  of  her  family. 
She  remembered  his  lustful  eye,   and  insolent  speech   and 


408  THE  YEMASSEE. 

gesture,  and  she  trembled  as  she  thought  of  him.  True,  her 
father  knew  him  in  his  boyhood,  but  his  account  of  him  was 
rather  tolerant  than  favourable;  and  the  subsequent  life  and 
conduct  of  the  licentious  rover — not  to  speak  of  the  suspicions 
openly  entertained  of  his  true  character  by  her  lover — all 
taught  her  to  fear  the  protection  which  he  had  given,  and  to 
dread,  while  she  seemed  to  anticipate,  the  price  of  it. 

She  had  no  long  time  for  doubt,  and  but  little  for  delibera- 
tion. He  came — bloody  with  conflict — covered  with  dust, 
blackened  with  gunpowder — the  fierce  flame  of  war  in  his 
eye,  and  in  his  hand  the  bared  weapon,  streaked  with  fresh 
stains,  which  he  had  only  in  part  wiped  away,  with  a  handful 
of  moss  gathered  from  the  trees.  There  was  nothing  encour- 
aging in  his  aspect — nothing  now  of  conciliation  in  his  deport- 
ment. His  manner  was  impatient  and  stern,  as,  without 
addressing  either  of  his  captives,  he  called  aside  and  gave 
directions  to  his  seamen.  The  pastor  craved  his  attention, 
but  he  waved  his  hand  impatiently,  nor  turned  to  him  for  an 
instant,  until  he  had  despatched  two  of  his  men  to  the  edge 
of  the  stream,  where,  well  concealed  by  the  shrubbery  upon  its 
banks,  lay  the  small  boat  of  the  vessel,  which  had  been  care- 
fully placed  there  by  his  orders.  They  gave  him  a  shrill 
whistle  as  they  reached  it,  which  he  immediately  returned — 
then  approaching  the  pastor,  he  scrupled  not  an  instant  in 
the  development  of  the  foul  design  which  he  had  all  along 
meditated. 

"  Hark  ye,  Matthews — this  is  no  place  for  us  now — I  can't 
protect  ye  any  longer.  I  hav'n't  the  men — they  are  cut  up — 
slashed — dead — eleven  of  the  finest  fellows — best  men  of 
my  vessel — by  this  time,  without  a  scalp  among  them.  I 
have  done  my  best  to  save  you,  but  it's  all  over,  and  there's 
but  one  way — you  must  go  with  us  on  board." 

"  How,  Chorley — go  with  vou — and  wherefore  ?  I  cannot 
—I  will  not." 

"  What,  will  not  ?  Oh  ho  !  Do  you  suppose  I  am  the  man 
to  listen  to  such  an  answer  ?  No !  no !  I'll  take  care  of  you 
whether  you  will  or  no  !  Do  you  think  I'll  let  you  stay  to  lose 
your  scalps,  and  this  sweet  darling  here  ?  No,  by  my  soul,  I 
were  no  man  to  suffer  it.     You  shall  go." 

"  What  mean  you,  Chorley  ?    Are  the  savages  successful — 


THE  YEMASSEE.  409 

have  they  defeated  our  men?     And  you — wherefore  do  you 
fly — how  have  you  fought — with  us — for  our  people  ?  " 

The  old  pastor,  half  bewildered,  urged  these  questions 
incoherently,  but  yet  with  such  directness  of  aim  as  almost 
to  bewilder  the  person  he  addressed,  who  could  not  well 
answer  them;  even  if  he  cared  to  do  so.  How,  as  the  pastor 
argued  with  himself, —  how,  if  the  Yemassees  have  defeated 
the  Carolinians — how  was  it  that  Chorley,  who  had  evidently 
been  their  ally,  could  not  exert  his  power  and  protect  them? 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  Carolinians  had  been  the  victors, 
wherefore  should  he  and  his  family  fly  from  their  own  people? 
Unable  well  to  meet  these  propositions,  the  native  fierce 
impetuosity  of  the  pirate  came  to  his  relief,  and  throwing 
aside  entirely  the  conciliatory  manner  of  his  first  address,  he 
proceeded  in  a  style  more  congenial  with  his  true  character. 

"Shall  I  stay  all  day  disputing  with  you  about  this  non- 
sense? I  tell  you,  you  shall  go,  whether  you  will  or  not. 
Look  you,  I  have  the  power — look  at  these  men — can  you 
withstand  them  ?  In  a  word,  they  force  you  to  the  ship,  and 
all  your  talking — ay,  and  all  your  struggling — will  help  you 
nothing.     Come — away." 

"  Xever — never !     Oh  !  father,  let  us  die  first !  "  was  the 
involuntarv  exclamation  of  the  maiden,  convulsivelv  clins: 
ing  to  the  old  man's  arm  as  the  ruffian  took  a  step  towards 
her. 

"  Captain  Chorley,  I  cannot  think  you  mean  this  violence  !  " 
said  the  old  man  with  dis:nitv. 

"  May  I  be  d — d,"  said  he  fiercely,  "  but  I  do  !  Violence, 
indeed !  violence  is  my  life, — my  business !  What,  old  man, 
shall  I  leave  you  here  to  be  made  mincemeat  of  by  the 
Indians  ?  No,  no !  I  love  you  and  your  pretty  daughter  too 
well  for  that.  Come,  sweetheart,  don't  be  shy — what !  do  you 
fear  me  then  ?  " 

"  Touch  me  not — touch  me  not  with  your  bloody  hands. 
Away !  I  will  not  go — strike  me  dead  first — strike  me  dead, 
but  I  will  not  go." 

"  But  you  shall !  What !  think  yon  I  am  a  child  to  be  put 
off  with  great  words  and  passionate  speeches !  What,  ho ! 
there,  boys — do  as  I  have  told  you." 

In  a  moment,  the  pastor  and  his  child  were  torn  asunder. 


410  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  Father — help — help  !  I  lose  thee — mother — father — 
Gabriel ! " 

"  Villian,  release  me — give  me  back  my  child.  Undo  your 
hold — you  shall  suffer  for  this.  Ha !  ha !  ha !  they  come — 
they  come!  Hurry,  hurry,  my  people.  Here — here — we  are 
here — they  tear  away  my  child.  Where  are  you — oh,  Harri- 
son, but  come  now — come  now,  and  she  is  yours — only  save 
her  from  the  hands  of  this  fierce  ruffian.  God  he  praised ! 
They  come — they  come  !  " 

They  did  come — the  broad  glare  of  sunlight  on  the  edge 
of  the  forest  was  darkened  by  approaching  shadows.  A  shot — 
another  and  another  was  heard — and  the  fugitives,  who  were 
Indians  flying  from  the  pursuing  Carolinians,  rushed  for- 
ward headlong;  but  as  they  saw  the  group  of  whites  on  the 
river's  brink,  thinking  them  new  enemies,  they  darted  aside, 
and  taking  another  route,  buried  themselves  in  the  forest,  out 
of  sight,  just  as  their  pursuers  came  forth  upon  the  scene. 
A  single  glance  of  Bess  Matthews,  as  the  ruffian  suddenly 
seized  npon  and  bore  her  to  the  boat,  distinguished  the 
manly  form  of  her  lover  darting  out  of  the  thicket  and  directly 
upon  the  path  approaching  them.  That  glance  gave  her  new 
hope — new  courage — new  strength  !  She  shrieked  to  him  in 
a  voice  delirious  with  terror  and  hope,  as  the  pirate,  bearing 
her  like  an  infant  in  his  powerful  grasp,  strode  into  the  boat, 
and  bade  the  seamen  who  manned  it,  push  off,  and  pull  away 
with  all  their  vigour. 

"  Come  to  me,  Gabriel — save  me,  save  me,  or  I  perish.  It 
is  I — thy  own  Bess — ever  thine — save  me,  save  me." 

She  fell  back  fainting  with  exhaustion  and  excitement,  and 
lay  nerveless  and  almost  senseless  in  the  arms  of  her  abductor. 
He  sustained  her  with  perfect  ease  with  one  arm,  npon  his 
bosom,  while  standing  erect,  for  the  boat  scarce  permitted 
him  with  his  burden  to  do  otherwise,  he  placed  his  foot  upon 
the  slender  rudder  and  guided  its  progress,  his  men  looking 
round  occasionally  and  suggesting  the  course  of  the  vessel. 
In  this  way  he  kept  his  eye  npon  shore,  and  beheld  the 
progress  of  events  in  that  quarter. 

The  cries  of  his  betrothed  had  taught  Harrison  the  condi- 
tion of  affairs.  He  saw  her  precarious  situation  at  a  glance, 
and,  rushing  down  to  the  beach,  followed  by  his  men,  the  sea- 


THE  YEMASSEE.  411 

men  fled  along  the  banks  higher  up  the  river,  and  were  soon 
out  of  sight,  leaving  the  old  pastor  and  his  wife  free.  The 
scene  before  him  was  too  imposing  in  the  eye  of  Harrison  to 
permit  of  his  giving  the  fugitives  a  thought.  But  the  pastor, 
now  free  from  restraint,  with  a  speechless  agony,  rushed  for- 
ward and  clasping  his  arm,  pointed  with  his  finger  to  the 
form  of  his  daughter,  hanging  like  a  broken  flower,  supine 
arid  almost  senseless,  upon  the  shoulder  of  her  Herculean 
captor.  The  action  of  Harrison  was  immediate,  and  in  a 
moment,  the  rifle  was  lifted  to  his  shoulder,  his  eye  ranging 
upon  the  sight,  and  singling  out  the  exposed  breast  of  the 
pirate,  which  lay  uncovered,  but  just  alongside  of  the  droop- 
ing head  of  the  maiden.  As  the  seaman  saw  the  movement, 
he  changed  her  position — she  saw  it  too,  and  lifting  her  hand, 
placed  it,  with  an  emphasis  not  to  be  mistaken,  upon  her 
heart.  The  old  pastor,  terrified  by  what  he  saw,  again  seized 
Harrison  by  the  arm  and  cried  to  him  convulsively,  while  the 
tears  trickled  down  his  cheeks — 

"  Stay  thy  hand — stay  thy  hand — shoot  not :  rather  let  me 
lose  her,  but  let  her  live — thou  wilt  slay  her.  thou  wilt  slay 
my  child — my  own,  my  only  child,"  and  he  tottered  like  an 
infant  in  his  deep  agony. 

"  Away,  old  man — give  me  room — away!"  and  with  the 
words,  with  unscrupulous  strength,  Harrison  hurled  him  from 
him  upon  the  sands.  Without  a  pause  the  fearful  instrument' 
was  again  uplifted — the  aim  was  taken, — his  finger  rested  on 
the  trigger,  but  his  heart  sickened — his  head  swam — his  eyes 
grew  blind  and  dizzy  ere  he  drew  it ;  and  with  a  shiver  of 
convulsion,  he  let  the  weapon  descend  heavily  to  the  ground. 

The  weakness  was  only  momentary.  A  faint  scream  came 
to  his  ears  over  the  water,  and  brought  back  with  it  all  his 
strength.  The  maiden  had  watched  closely  all  his  motions, 
and  the  last  had  given  her  energy  somewhat  to  direct  them. 
That  scream  aroused  him.  He  resumed  his  position  and 
aim;  and,  fixing  the  sight  upon  that  part  of  the  bosom  of  his 
enemy  least  concealed,  nerved  himself  to  all  the  hazard,  and 
resolutely  drew  the  trigger.  The  effect  was  instantaneous. 
The  next  instant  the  maiden  was  seen  released  from  the 
pirate's  grasp  and  sinking  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 


412  THE  YEMASSEE. 

while  he  stood  erect.  The  venerable  pastor  fainted,  while, 
on  her  knees,  his  aged  wife  bent  over  him  in  silent  prayer. 

That  moment  was  more  than  death  to  Harrison;  but  what 
was  his  emotion  of  delight  when,  at  the  next,  he  beheld  the 
pirate,  like  some  gigantic  tree  that  has  kept  itself  erect  by  its 
own  exceeding  weight,  fall,  like  a  tower,  headlong,  over  the 
side  of  the  boat,  stiff  and  rigid,  and  without  a  struggle,  sink 
deeply  and  silently  down  beneath  the  overdosing  waters. 
But  a  new  danger  awaited  the  maiden ;  for  in  his  fall,  destroy- 
ing the  equipoise  of  the  skiff,  its  entire  contents  were,  at  the 
next  instant,  precipitated  into  the  stream ;  and  while  the  two 
seamen,  unhurt,  struck  off  towards  the  vessel,  the  maiden 
lay  in  sight,  sustained  above  the  surface  only  by  the  buoyancy 
of  her  dress,  and  without  exhibiting  any  other  motion.  A 
dozen  sinewy  arms  from  the  shore  at  once  struck  the  water, 
but  which  of  all,  nerved  as  he  was  by  the  highest  stimulant 
of  man's  nature,  could  leave  the  fearless  Harrison  behind 
him?  On  he  dashes — on — on — now  he  nears  her, — another 
moment  and  she  is  saved;  but  while  every  eye  was  fixed  as 
with  a  spell  upon  the  prospect  with  an  anxiety  inexpressible, 
the  sullen  waters  went  over  her,  and  a  universal  cry  of  horror 
arose  from  the  shore.  But  she  rose  again  in  an  instant,  and 
with  a  show  of  consciousness,  stretching  out  her  hand,  the 
name  of  "  Gabriel/'  in  a  tone  of  imploring  love,  reached  the 
ears  of  her  lover.  That  tone,  that  word,  was  enough,  and  the 
next  moment  found  her  insensible  in  his  arms.  She  was  a 
child  in  his  grasp,  for  the  strength  of  his  fearless  and  pas- 
sionate spirit,  not  less  than  of  his  native  vigour,  was  active 
to  save  her. 

"  Help — help/'  was  his  cry  to  the  rest,  and  to  the  shore ; — 
he  sustained  her  till  it  came.  It  was  not  long  ere  she  lay  in 
the  arms  of  her  parents,  whose  mutual  tears  and  congratula- 
tions came  sweetly,  along  with  their  free  consent,  to  make  her 
preserver  happy  with  the  hand  hitherto  denied  him. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  413 


CHAPTER  L. 

Harrison  thus  blessed  with  happiness,  appropriated  but 
little  time,  however,  to  its  enjoyment.  His  mind  was  of  that 
active  sort,  that  even  the  sweets  of  love  were  to  be  enjoyed 
by  him  as  a  stimulant,  rather  than  a  clog  to  exertion.  Con-, 
veying  the  little  family  to  a  recess  in  the  woods,  and  out  of 
eight  of  the  craft  of  the  pirate,  he  immediately  proceeded — 
having  first  led  the  foresters  aside — to  explain  his  further 
desires  to  them  in  reference  to  their  common  duties. 

"Joy,  my  brave  fellows,  and  thanks  to  you,  for  this  last 
night's  good  service.  You  have  done  well,  and  risked  your- 
selves nobly.  Grayson,  give  me  your  hand — you  are  a  good 
soldier.     Where's  your  brother  ?  " 

"  Here !  "  was  the  single  word  of  response  spoken  from  the 
background  by  the  lips  of  Hugh  Grayson.  The  tone  of  the 
monosyllable  was  melancholy,  but  not  sullen.  Harrison 
advanced  to  him,  and  extended  his  hand. 

"  Master  Grayson,  to  you  we  owe  most  of  our  safety  to-day. 
But  for  you,  the  sun  would  have  found  few  of  us  with  a 
scalp  on.  Your  activity  in  bringing  up  the  men  has  saved  us ; 
for,  though  otherwise  safe  enough,  the  firing  of  the  Block 
House  must  have  been  fatal  to  all  within.  For  myself,  I  may 
freely  acknowledge,  my  life,  at  this  moment,  is  due  to  your 
timely  appearance.  Your  command,  too,  was  excellently  man- 
aged for  so  young  a  soldier.  Accept  my  thanks,  sir,  in  behalf 
of  the  country  not  less  than  of  myself.  I  shall  speak  to  you 
again  on  this  subject,  and  in  regard  to  other  services  in  which 
your  aid  will  be  required,  after  a  while." 

The  youth  looked  upon  Harrison  with  a  degree  of  surprise, 
which  prevented  him  from  making  any  adequate  answer. 
Whence  came  that  air  of  conscious  superiority  in  the  speaker 
— that  tone  of  command — of  a  power  unquestionable,  and  held 
as  if  born  with  it  in  his  possession?  The  manner  of  Harri- 
son had  all  the  ease  and  loftiness  of  a  prince;  and, 
scarcely  less  than  the  crowd  around  him,  the  proud-spirited 
youth  felt  a  degree  of  respectful  awe  stealing  over  him,  of 


414  THE  YEMASSEE. 

which  he  began  to  grow  ashamed.  But,  before  he  could 
recover,  in  time  to  exhibit  an}'  of  that  rash  and  imperious 
rusticity  which  the  lowlier  born  of  strong  native  mind  is  so 
apt  to  show  in  the  presence  of  the  conventional  superior,  the 
speaker   had   again   addressed   the    crowd. 

"  And  you,  men,  you  have  all  done  well  for  the  country, 
and  it  owes  you  its  gratitude." 

"  Ay,  that  it  does,  captain,"  said  Nichols,  advancing — 
"  that  it  does.  We  have  stood  by  her  in  the  hour  of  her 
need.  We  have  resisted  the  approach  of  the  bloody  invader, 
and  with  liberty  or  death  for  our  motto,  we  have  rushed  to 
the  conflict,  sir,  defying  consequences." 

"  Ah,  Nichols — you  are  welcome,  both  in  what  you  have 
done  and  what  you  have  said.  I  might  have  known  that 
the  country  was  safe  in  your  hands,  knowing  as  I  do  your 
general  sentiments  on  the  subject  of  the  liberties  of  the 
people.  Granville  county,  Nichols,  must  make  you  her  repre- 
sentative after  this,  and  I'm  sure  she  will." 

The  speaker  smiled  sarcastically  as  he  spoke,  but  Nichols 
had  an  easy  faith,  and  was  modestly  content  with  a  surface 
compliment,  and  never  laboured  to  discover  the  occult  adverse 
signification  which  it  might  conceal.  He  was  wise  after  the 
usual  fashion  of  the  demagogue,  and  with  great  regard  to 
proprieties  of  character,  he  replied  in  a  speech. 

"Ah,  captain,  'twere  an  honour; — and  could  my  fellow- 
countrymen  be  persuaded  to  look  upon  me  with  your  eyes, 
proud  would  I  be  to  stand  up  for  their  rights,  and  with  the 
thunders  of  my  voice,  compel  that  justice  from  the  Assembly 
which,  in  denying  representation  to  all  dissenters,  they  have 
most  widely  departed  from.  Ay,  captain — fellow-citizens — 
permit  me  to  address  you  now  upon  a  few  topics  most  impor- 
tant to  your  own  liberties,  and  to  the  common  benefit  of 
humanity.    My  voice — " 

"  Must  just  at  this  moment  be  unheard,"  interrupted 
Harrison ;  "  we  have  need  of  other  thunders  now.  Hear  me, 
gentlemen ;  for  this  have  I  called  you  together.  I  want  from 
among  you  thirty  volunteers — hardy,  whole-souled  fellows, 
who  do  not  count  heads  in  a  scuffle.  The  enterprise  is  dan- 
gerous, and  must  be  executed — very  dangerous  I  say — and 
I  beg  that  none  may  offer  but  those  who  are  perfectly  ready 


THE  YEMASSEE.  415 

at  any  moment — to  use  the  words  of  Dr.  Nichols — to  die  for 
the  country.  The  doctor  himself,  however,  must  not  go,  as 
he  is  too  important  to  us  in  his  surgical  capacity." 

Nichols,  well  pleased  with  the  exception  thus  made,  was 
not  however  willing  to  appear  so,  and,  glad  of  the  opportunity, 
could  not  forbear  making  something  of  a  popular  hit. 

"  How,  captain — this  may  not  be.  I  am  not  one  of  those, 
sir,  altog'ethcr  content  to  be  denied  the  privilege  of  dying 
for  my  country  when  occasion  calls  for  it.  Let  me  go  on  this 
service : — I  insist.  I  am  one  of  the  people,  and  will  forego 
none  of  their  dangers." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  insist  upon  it,  of  course  I  can  say  noth- 
ing— we  hold  you  pledged,  therefore.  There  are  now  three 
of  us — Master  Hugh  Grayson,  I  presume  to  place  you,  as  one 
with  myself  and  Dr.  Xichols,  volunteering  upon  this  service. 
I  understand  you  so." 

The  high  compliment,  and  the  delicate  manner  in  which  it 
was  conveyed,  totally  disarmed  young  Grayson,  who,  softened 
considerably  by  the  proceeding,  bowed  his  head  in  assent, 
approaching  by  degrees  to  where  Harrison  stood.  Xichols, 
on  the  other  hand,  had  not  contemplated  so  easily  getting  the 
permission  which  he  called  for,  and.  well  knowing  his  man, 
Harrison  barely  gave  it,  as  he  foresaw  it  would  not  be  long 
before  he  would  assume  new  ground,  which  would  bring  about 
a  ready  evasion  of  his  responsibility.  The  elder  Grayson 
meanwhile  volunteered  also,  followed  by  several  others,  and 
in  a  little  time  the  required  number  was  almost  complete. 
But  the  surgeon  now  demanded  to  know  the  nature  of  the 
service. 

"What  matters  it,  doctor — it  is  an  honourable,  because  a 
dangerous  service.    You  shall  know  in  time." 

u  That  does  not  suit  me,  captain.  What, — shall  I  suffer 
myself  to  be  led  blindfold  upon  a  duty,  the  propriety  of 
which  may  be  doubtful,  not  less  than  the  policy?  Sir — I 
object  upon  principle." 

"  Principle — indeed,  doctor,"  said  Harrison,  smiling. 
"  Why,  what  in  the  name  of  pounds  and  shillings  has  prin- 
ciple to  do  in  this  business  ?  " 

*  Enough,  sir — the  rights  of  man — of  the  people  of  the 
country,  are  all  involved.    Do  I  not,  sir,  in  thus  volunteering 


416  THE  YEMASSEE. 

upon  a  service  of  which  I  know  nothing,  put  myself  under  the 
control  of  one  who  may  make  me  a  traitor  to  my  country,  a 
defier  of  the  laws,  and  probably  a  murderer  of  my  fellow-man? 
Sir,  what  security  have  I  of  the  morality  and  the  lawfulness 
of  your  proceeding  ?  " 

"  Very  true — you  are  right,  and  such  being  your  opinions, 
I  think  you  would  err  greatly  to  volunteer  in  this  business/' 
was  the  grave  response  of  Harrison. 

"Ah,  I  knew  you  would  agree  with  me,  captain — I  knew 
it/'  cried  the  doctor,  triumphantly. 

"  I  want  another  man  or  two — we  are  something  short." 

As  the  leader  spoke  Hector  came  forward,  his  head  hang- 
ing on  one  shoulder,  as  if  he  feared  rebuff  for  his  presump- 
tion, in  the  unlooked-for  proffer  of  service  which  he  now 
made. 

"Maussa — you  let  Hector  go,  he  glad  too  much.  He  no 
want  stay  here  wid  de  doctor  and  de  'omans." 

His  reference  to  the  demagogue,  accompanied  as  it  was  with 
an  ill-concealed  chuckle  of  contempt,  provoked  the  laughter 
of  the  crowd ;  and  observing  that  the  greater  number  looked 
favourably  upon  the  proposal  of  the  negro,  Harrison 
consented. 

"You  will  knock  a  Spaniard  on  the  head,  sir,  if  I  bid 
you?" 

"  Yes,  maussa,  and  scalp  'em  too,  jist  like  dem  Injin." 

"You  shall  go." 

"Tankee — dat's  a  good  maussa.  Hello,  da — "  and  per- 
fectly overjoyed,  he  broke  out  with  a  stanza  of  negro  min- 
strelsy, common,  even  now,  to  the  slaves  of  Carolina — 

"  He  come  rain — he  come  shine, 

Hab  a  good  maussa,  who  da  care? 
De  black  is  de  white  and  de  white  is  de  black, 
Hab  a  good  maussa,  who  da  care? 

But  look  out,  nigger,  when  missis  come — 
Hah!   den  de  wedder  will  alter  some — ■ 
If  she  cross, — Oh! — who  for   say, 
You  ebber  again  see  sunshine  day?" 

How  long  Hector  might  have  gone  on  with  his  uncouth, 
and,  so  far  as  the  sex  is  interested,  ungallant  minstrelsy,  may 


THE  YEMASSEE.  417 

not  well  be  said ;  but,  seeing  its  direction,  his  master  silenced 
it  in  a  sufficiently  potent  manner. 

"  Be  still,  sirrah,  or  you  shall  feed  on  hickory." 
"  No  hab  "tomach  for  'em,  maussa.     I  dumb." 
"  'Tis  well.     Xow,  men,  see  to  your  weapons — hatchets  and 
knives  for  all — we  shall  need  little  else,  but  fearless  hearts 
and  strong  hands.     Our  purpose  is  to  seize  upon  that  pirate 
vessel  in  the  river." 

The  men  started  with  one  accord. 

"  Ay,  no  less.  It's  a  perilous  service,  but  not  so  perilous  as 
it  appears.  I  happen  to  know  that  there  are  now  not  two  men 
on  board  of  the  vessel  accustomed  to  the  management  of  the 
guns — not  fifteen  on  board  in  all.  Granger  has  got  us  boats 
in  plenty,  and  I  have  conceived  a  plan  by  which  we  shall 
attack  her  on  all  points.  Something  of  our  success  will 
depend  upon  their  consciousness  of  weakness.  They  are  with- 
out a  commander,  and  their  men,  accustomed  to  fighting, 
are  in  our  woods  dead  or  running,  and  in  no  ability  to  serve 
them.  The  show  of  numbers,  and  ten  or  a  dozen  boats  with 
stout  men  approaching  them,  will  do  much  with  their  fears. 
AVe  shall  thus  board  them  with  advantage;  and  though  I 
hope  not  to  escape  witli  all  of  us  unhurt.  I  am  persuaded  we 
shall  be  successful  without  much  loss.  Master  Hugh  Grayson 
will  command  three  of  the  boats.  Master  Walter  Grayson  three 
others,  and  the  rest  will  be  with  me.  You  have  now  heard. 
If,  like  the  doctor  here,  any  of  you  object  to  proceeding,  on 
principle,  against  this  pirate  who  has  sought  the  destruction  of 
our  people,  well  and  good — they  are  at  liberty  to  withdraw, 
and  we  shall  look  for  other  men  less  scrupulous.  Who  is 
ready?" 

The  confident,  almost  careless  manner  of  the  speaker,  was 
of  more  effect  than  his  language.    The  cry  was  unanimous : 
"  Lead  on — we  are  all  ready." 

"  I  thank  you.  my  merry  men.  and  old  England  for  ever ! 
Master  Hugh  Grayson,  and  you,  friend  Walter, — let  us  counsel 
here  a  moment." 

He  led  them  aside,  and  together  they  matured  the  plan  of 
attack.  Then  leaving  them  to  parcel  off  the  men,  Harrison 
stole  away  for  a  few  moments  into  the  silent  grove  where  the 
pastor's  family  was  sheltered.    As  we  have  no  business  there, 


418  THE  YEMASSEE. 

we  can  only  conjecture  the  motive  of  his  visit.  A  press  of 
the  hand  from  the  beloved  one  were  much  to  one  about  to  go 
upon  an  adventure  of  life  and  death.  He  returned  in  a  few 
moments  with  increased  alacrity,  and  led  the  way  to  the 
boats,  eleven  in  number,  which  Granger  in  the  meantime  had 
selected  from  those  employed  by  the  Indians  in  crossing  the 
preceding  night.  They  were  small,  but  sufficiently  large  for 
the  men  allotted  to  each.  In  their  diminutiveness,  too, 
lay  much  of  their  safety  from  the  great  guns  of  the  vessel. 

Leading  the  way,  the  boat  of  Harrison,  followed  by  those  in 
his  charge,  shot  ahead  of  the  rest,  bearing  down  full  upon  the 
broadside  of  the  pirate.  This  was  the  most  dangerous  point 
of  approach.  The  two  Graysons  led  their  separate  forces, 
the  one  to  reach  the  opposite  side,  the  other  at  the  stern  lights, 
in  order  that  the  attack  should  be  simultaneous  at  all  vulner- 
able places.  In  this  manner  the  several  boats  covered  the 
various  assailable  points  of  the  vessel,  and  necessarily,  by 
dividing  their  force  for  the  protection  of  each  quarter,  weak- 
ened the  capacity  of  the  seamen  to  contend  with  them. 

The  pirate  lay  at  about  a  mile  and  a  half  below  them  upon 
the  river — her  form  in  perfect  repose — and  even  weaker  in  her 
force  than  Harrison  had  conjectured.  Bewildered  with  his 
situation,  and  unaccustomed  to  command,  the  inferior  officer, 
left  in  temporary  charge  of  her  by  Chorley,  had  done  noth- 
ing, and  indeed  could  do  nothing,  towards  the  defence  of 
his  vessel.  The  few  men  left  with  him  had  become  refractory; 
and,  with  the  reputed  recklessness  of  men  in  their  way  of  life, 
had  proceeded,  during  the  absence  of  Chorley,  whom  they 
feared  rather  than  respected,  to  all  manner  of  excess.  Liquor, 
freely  distributed  by  the  commanding  officer,  with  the  hope  to 
pacify,  had  only  the  effect  of  stimulating  their  violence;  and 
the  approach  of  the  assailing  party,  magnified  by  their  fears 
and  excesses,  found  them  without  energy  to  resist,  and  scarcely 
ability  to  fly.  The  lieutenant  did  indeed  endeavour  to  bring 
them  to  some  order  and  show  of  defence.  With  his  own  hand 
he  rigged  up  a  gun,  which  he  pointed  among  the  approach- 
ing boats.  The  scattering  and  whizzing  shot  would  have  been 
fatal,  had  the  aim  been  better ;  but  apprehension  and  excite- 
ment had  disturbed  too  greatly  the  mental  equilibrium  of 
officer  and  men  alike;  and,  not  anticipating  such  a  result  to 


THE  YEMASSEE.  419 

their  adventure,  and  having  no  thought  themselves  of  being 
attacked,  where  they  had  come  to  be  assailants,  they  fell  into  a 
panic  from  which  they  did  not  seek  to  recover.  The  failure  of 
the  shot  to  injure  their  enemies  completed  their  apprehension; 
and  as  the  little  squadron  of  Harrison  continued  to  approach, 
without  fear  and  without  obstruction,  the  refractory  seamen 
let  down  their  own  boats  in  the  direction  of  the  opposite 
shore,  and,  so  considerably  in  advance  of  the  Carolinians 
as  to  defy  pursuit,  were  seen  by  them  pulling  with  all  indus- 
try towards  the  Indian  country.  A  single  man,  the  lieutenant, 
appeared  on  board  for  a  few  moments  after  they  had  left  the 
vessel;  but  whether  he  remained  from  choice,  or  that  they 
refused  to  take  him  with  them,  was  at  that  time  a  mystery  to 
the  assailing  party.  His  design  may  be  guessed  at  in  the 
sequel. 

Despatching  the  Graysons  in  pursuit  of  the  flying  pirates, 
whose  "number  did  not  exceed  ten  men,  Harrison  brought  his 
boat  alongside  the  vessel,  and  resolutely  leaped  on  board.  But 
where  was  the  lieutenant  he  had  seen  but  a  few  minutes 
before?  He  called  aloud,  and  traversed  the  deck  in  search 
of  him,  but  in  vain.  He  was  about  to  descend  to  the  cabin, 
when  he  felt  himself  suddenly  seized  upon  by  Hector,  who, 
with  looks  of  excited  terror,  dragged  him  forward  to  the  side 
of  the  vessel,  and  with  a  directing  finger  and  a  single  word, 
developed  their  full  danger  to  his  master. 

"Maussa — de  ship  da  burn — look  at  de  smoke — jump, 
maussa,  for  dear  life — jump  in  de  water."  It  needed  no 
second  word — they  sprang  over  the  side  of  the  vessel  at  the 
same  instant  that  an  immense  body  of  dense  sulphureous 
vapour  ascended  from  below.  The  river  received  them,  for 
their  boat  had  been  pushed  off,  with  a  proper  precaution,  to 
a  little  distance.  Ere  they  were  taken  up,  the  catastrophe 
was  over — the  explosion  had  taken  place,  and  the  sky  was 
blackened  with  the  smoke  and  fragments  of  the  vessel  upon 
which,  but  a  few  moments  before,  they  had  stood  in  perfect 
safety.  But  where  was  the  lieutenant? — where?  He  had 
been  precipitate  in  his  application  of  the  match,  and  his 
desperation  found  but  a  single  victim  in  himself ! 


420  THE  YEMASSEE. 


CHAPTEK  LI. 

A  motley  assemblage  gathered  at  the  Chief's  Bluff,  upon 
the  banks  of  the  Pocota-ligo,  at  an  early  hour  on  the  day  so 
full  of  incident.  A  fine  day  after  so  foul  a  promise — the  sun 
streamed  brightly,  and  the  skies  without  a  cloud  looked  down 
peacefully  over  the  settlement.  But  there  was  little  sym- 
pathy among  the  minds  of  the  borderers  with  such  a  pros- 
pect. They  had  suffered  quite  too  much,  and  their  sufferings 
were  quite  too  fresh  in  their  minds,  properly  to  feel  it.  Worn 
out  with  fatigue,  and  not  yet  recovered  from  their  trials  and 
terrors — now  struggling  onward  with  great  effort,  and  now 
borne  in  the  arms  of  the  more  able-bodied  among  the  men — ■ 
came  forward  the  women  and  children  who  had  been  sheltered 
in  the  Block  House.  That  structure  was  now  in  ashes — so 
indeed,  generally  speaking,  were  all  the  dwellings  between 
that,  point  and  Pocota-ligo.  Below  the  former  point,  however 
— thanks  to  the  manful  courage  and  ready  appearance  of 
Hugh  Grayson  with  the  troop  he  had  brought  up — the  horrors 
of  the  war  had  not  extended.  But,  in  all  other  quarters,  the 
insurrection  had  been  successful.  Far  and  wide,  scattering 
themselves  in  bands  over  every  other  part  of  the  colony,  the 
Yemassees  and  their  numerous  allies  were  carrying  the  terrors 
of  their  arms  through  'the  unprepared  and  unprotected  settle- 
ment, down  to  the  very  gates  of  Charleston — the  chief  town 
and  principal  rallying  point  of  the  Carolinians ;  and  there  the 
inhabitants  were  literally  walled  in,  unable  to  escape  unless 
by  sea,  and  then,  only  from  the  country.  But  this  belongs 
elsewhere.  The  group  now  assembled  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Pocota-ligo,  absorbed  as  they  were  in  their  own  grievances, 
had  not  thought  of  the  condition  of  their  neighbours.  The 
straits  and  sufferings  of  the  other  settlements  were  utterly 
unimagined  by  them  generally.  But  one  person  of  all  the 
group  properly  conjectured  the  extent  of  the  insurrection — 
that  was  Harrison.  He  had  been  a  part  witness  to  the 
league — had  counted  the  various  tribes  represented  in  that 
gloomy  dance  of  death — the  club  and  scalp-dance — the  rites 


THE  YEMASSEE.  421 

of  demoniac  conception  and  origin; — and  he  felt  that  the 
very  escape  of  the  people  around  him  only  arose  from  the 
concentration  of  the  greater  force  of  the  savages  upon  the 
more  populous  settlements  of  the  Carolinians.  Full  of  satis- 
faction that  so  many  had  been  saved,  his  mind  was  yet 
crowded  with  the  thousand  apprehensions  that  came  with  his 
knowledge  of  the  greater  danger  to  which  the  rest  of  the 
colony  was  exposed.  He  knew  the  strong  body  commanded 
by  Sanutee  to  be  gone  in  the  direction  of  the  Ashley  river 
settlement.  He  knew  that  a  force  of  Spaniards  was  expected 
to  join  them  from  St.  Augustine ;  but  whether  by  sea  or  land 
was  yet  to  be  determined.  He  felt  the  uncertainty  of  his 
position,  and  how  doubtful  was  the  condition  of  the  province 
under  such  an  array  of  enemies;  but,  with  a  mind  still  cheer- 
ful, he  gave  his  orders  for  the  immediate  remove,  by  water, 
to  the  city;  and,  having  completed  his  preparations  as  well 
as  he  might,  and  while  the  subordinates  were  busied  in  pro- 
curing boats,  he  gave  himself  for  a  brief  time  to  the  family 
of  Bess  Matthews. 

Long  and  sweet  was  the  murmuring  conversation  carried 
on  between  the  lovers.  Like  a  stream  relieved  from  the  pres- 
sure of  the  ice,  her  affections  now  poured  themselves  freely 
into  his.  The  consent  of  her  father  had  been  given,  even  if 
his  scruples  had  not  been  withdrawn;  and  that  was  enough. 
Her  hand  rested  in  the  clasp  of  his,  and  the  unrebuking  eyes 
of  the  old  Puritan  gave  it  a  sufficient  sanction.  Matthews 
may  have  sought,  in  what  he  then  said,  to  satisfy  himself  of 
the  necessity  for  his  consent,  if  he  had  failed  to  satisfy  his 
conscience. 

u  She  is  yours,  Captain  Harrison — she  is  yours !  But  for 
you,  but  for  you,  God  knows,  and  I  dread  to  think,  what 
would  have  been  her  fate  in  the  hands  of  that  bad  man.  Bad 
from  his  cradle ;  for  I  knew  him  from  that  time,  and  knew 
that,  mischief  then,  and  crime  when  he  grew  older,  were  his 
familiar  playmates,  and  his  most  companionable  thoughts/' 

"  You  were  slow  in  discovering  it,  sir/'  was  the  renlv  of 
Harrison — "certainly  slow  in  acknowledging  it  to  me." 

"  I  had  a  hope,  Master  Harrison,  that  he  had  grown  a 
wiser  and  a  better  man,  and  was  therefore  unwilling  to 
mortify  him  with  the  recollection  of  the  past,  and  to  make  it 


422  THE  YEMASSEE. 

public  to  his  ill-being.  But  let  us  speak  of  him  no  more.  There 
are  other  topics  far  more  grateful  in  the  recollection  of  our 
escape  from  this  dreadful  night;  and  long  and  fervent  should 
be  our  prayers  to  the  benevolent  Providence  who  has  had 
us  so  affectionately  in  his  care.  But  what  now  are  we  to  do, 
Captain  Harrison — what  is  our  hope  of  safety,  and  where 
are  we  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  all  this,  sir.  There  is  but  one  course 
for  us,  and  that  is  to  place  the  young  and  feeble  safely  in 
Charleston.     There  is  no  safety  short  of  that  point." 

"  How — not  at  Port  Eoyal  Island  ?  " 

"  No !  not  even  there — we  shall  be  compelled  to  hurry  past 
it  now  as  rapidly  as  possible  in  our  way  to  the  place  of  refuge 
— the  only  place  that  can  now  certainly  be  considered  such." 

"What — shall  Ave  go  by  water?" 

"  There  is  no  other  way.  By  this  time,  scarce  a  mile  of 
wood  between  Pocota-ligo  and  Charleston  itself  but  is  filled 
by  savages.  I  saw  the  force  last  night,  and  that  with  which  we 
contended  was  nothing  to  the  numbers  pledged  in  this  insur- 
rection. They  did  not  look  for  resistance  here,  and  hence  the 
smallness  of  their  numbers  in  this  quarter." 

"  And  to  your  wise  precautions,  Master  Harrison,  we  owe 
all  this.     How  unjust  J  have  been  to  you,  sir !  " 

"  Speak  not  of  it,  Master  Matthews — you  have  more  than 
atoned  in  the  rich  possession  which  I  now  hold.  Ah,  Bess ! — 
I  see  you  look  for  the  promised  secret.  Well,  it  shall  be  told. 
But  stay — I  have  a  duty.     Pardon  me  a  while." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  made  a  signal  to  Hector,  who 
now  came  forward  with  the  dog  Dugdale,  which  had  been 
wounded  with  an  arrow  in  the  side,  not  seriously,  but  pain- 
fully, as  was  evident  from  the  writhings  and  occasional  moan- 
ings  of  the  animal,  while  Hector  busied  himself  plastering 
the  wound  with  the  resinous  gum  of  the  pine-tree. 

"  Hector,"  said  his  master,  as  he  approached — "  give  me 
Dugdale.     Henceforward  I  shall  take  care  of  him  myself." 

"  Sa !  maussa,"  exclaimed  the  negro,  with  an  expression 
almost  of  terrified  amazement  in  his  countenance. 

"  Yes,  Hector, — you  are  now  free.  I  give  you  your  free- 
dom, old  fellow.  Here  is  money,  too,  and  in  Charleston  you 
shall  have  a  house  to  live  in  for  yourself." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  423 

"No,  maussa;  I  can't  go;  I  can't  be  free,"  replied  the 
negro,  shaking  his  head,  and  endeavouring  to  resume  pos- 
session of  the  strong  cord  which  secured  the  dog,  and  which 
Harrison  had  taken  into  his  own  hand. 

"  Why  can't  you,  Hector  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  Am  I  not 
your  master?  Can't  I  make  you  free,  and  don't  I  tell  you 
that  I  do  make  j'ou  free?  From  this  moment  you  are  your 
own  master." 

"  Wha'  for,  maussa  ?  Wha'  Hector  done,  you  guine  turn 
um  off  dis  time  o'  day  ?  " 

"  Done  !  You  have  saved  my  life,  old  fellow — you  have 
fought  for  me  like  a  friend,  and  I  am  now  your  friend,  and 
not  any  longer  your  master." 

"  Ivi,  maussa  !  enty  you  always  been  f rien'  to  Hector  !  Enty 
you  gib  um  physic  when  he  sick,  and  come  see  and  talk  wid 
um,  and  do  ebbery  ting  he  want  you  for  do  !  What  more  you 
guine  do,  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Hector,  I  have  done  for  you  all  this — but  I  have  done 
it  because  you  were  my  slave,  and  because  I  was  bound  to  do 
it." 

"  Ah,  you  no  want  to  be  boun'  any  longer.  Da's  it !  I 
see.  You  want  Hector  for  eat  acorn  wid  de  hog,  and  take  de 
swamp  wid  de  Injin,  enty  ?  " 

"  Not  so,  old  fellow — but  I  cannot  call  you  my  slave  when 
I  would  call  you  my  friend.  I  shall  get  another  slave  to 
carry  Dugdale,  and  you  shall  be  free." 

"  I  d — n  to  h — 11,  maussa,  ef  I  guine  to  be  free !  "  roared 
the  adhesive  black,  in  a  tone  of  unrestrainable  determination. 
"  I  can't  loss  you  company,  and  who  de  debble  Dugdale  guine 
let  feed  him  like  Hector  ?  'Tis  onpossible,  maussa,  and  dere's 
no  use  for  talk  'bout  it.  De  ting  aint  right;  and  enty  I 
know  wha'  kind  of  ting  freedom  is  wicl  black  man  ?  Ha  !  you 
make  Hector  free,  he  turn  wuss  more  nor  poor  buckrah — he 
tief  out  of  de  shop — he  git  drunk  and  lie  in  de  ditch — den, 
if  sick  come,  he  roll,  he  toss  in  de  wet  grass  of  de  stable. 
You  come  in  de  morning,  Hector  dead — and,  who  know — he 
no  take  physic,  he  no  hab  parson — who  know,  I  say,  maussa, 
but  de  debble  fine  em  'fore  anybody  else?  Xo,  maussa — you 
and  Dugdale  berry  good  company  for  Hector.  I  tank  God  he 
so  good — I  no  want  any  better." 


424  THE  YEMASSEE. 

The  negro's  objection  to  the  boon  of  liberty,  with  which 
he  so  little  knew  what  to  do,  were  not  to  be  overcome;  and 
his  master,  deeply  affected  with  this  evidence  of  his  attach- 
ment, turned  away  in  silence,  offering  no  further  obstruction 
to  the  desperate  hold  which  Hector  again  took  of  the  wounded 
Dugdale.  iVpproaching  the  little  group  from  which,  but  a 
few  moments  before,  he  had  parted,  he  stood  up  in  earnest 
conversation  with  the  pastor,  while  the  hand  of  Bess,  in  con- 
fiding happiness  and  innocence,  was  suffered  to  rest  passively 
in  his  own.  It  was  a  moment  of  delirious  rapture  to  both 
parties.  But  there  was  one  who  stood  apart,  yet  surveying 
the  scene,  to  whom  it  brought  a  pang  little  short  of  agony. 
This  was  the  younger  Grayson.  Tears  started  to  his  eyes  as 
he  beheld  the  happy  party,  and  he  turned  away  from  the 
group  in  a  suffering  anguish,  that,  for  the  moment,  brought 
back  those  sterner  feelings  which  he  had  hitherto  so  well 
suppressed.  The  eye  of  Harrison  caught  the  movement,  and 
readily  divined  its  cause.  Calling  Granger  to  -him,  he 
demanded  from  him  a  small  packet  which  he  had  intrusted  to 
his  care  on  leaving  the  Block  House  for  Pocota-ligo  the 
evening  before.  The  question  disturbed  the  trader  not  a  little, 
who,  at  length,  frankly  confessed  he  had  mislaid.it. 

"  Say  not  so,  man !  think ! — that  packet  is  of  value,  and 
holds  the  last  treaty  of  the  colony  with  the  Queen  of  St. 
Helena,  and  the  Cassique  of  Combahee* — not  to  speak  of 
private  despatches,  set  against  which  thy  worthless  life  would 
have  no  value !     Look,  man,  as  thou  lovest  thy  quiet !  " 

u  It  is  here,  sir — all  in  safety,  as  thou  gavest  it  him,"  said 
the  wife  of  the  trader,  coming  forward.  "  In  the  hurry  of 
the  fight  he  gave  it  me  for  safe  keeping,  though,  too  much 
worried  to  think  afterwards  of  the  trust." 

"  Thou   art   a    strong-minded   woman — and   'tis   well   for 

*"  In  1682  and  subsequently  [italics  the  editor's],  lands  were 
ceded  by  the  Caciques  of  Wimbee,  Stono,  Combahee,  Kussah, 
Edisto,  Ashepoo,  Witcheaw,  and  by  the  Queen  and  Captain  of 
St.  Helena,  who  generously  surrendered  (to  please  the  English) 
their  lands  in  a  northwestward  direction  as  far  as  the  'Appa- 
lachian Mountains,'  although  they  had  not  even  the  claim  of 
occupancy  to  any  great  distance  from  the  seacoast." — McCrady's 
History   of   South   Carolina,  L,  pp.   179-80. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  425 

Granger  that  such  as  thou  hast  him  in  charge.  Take  my 
thanks  for  thy  discharge  of  duties  self-assumed,  and  not 
assigned  thee.     Thou  shalt  be  remembered." 

Possessing  himself  of  the  packet,  he  approached  Hugh 
Grayson,  who  stood  sullenly  apart,  and  drawing  from  its 
folds  a  broad  sheet  of  parchment,  he  thus  addressed  him : — 

"  Master  Grayson,  the  colony  owes  thee  thanks  for  thy 
good  service,  and  would  have  more  from  thee.  I  know  not  one 
in  whom,  at  such  a  time,  its  proprietary  lords  can  better  con- 
fide, in  this  contest,  than  in  thee.  Thou  hast  courage,  enter- 
prise, and  conduct — art  not  too  rash,  nor  yet  too  sluggish — 
but,  to  my  poor  mind,  thou  combinest  happily  all  the  materials 
which  should  make  a  good  captain.  Thou  hast  a  little  mis- 
taken me  in  some  things,  and,  perhaps,  thou  hast  something 
erred  in  estimating  thyself.  But  thou  art  young,  and  responsi- 
bility makes  the  man — nothing  like  responsibility !  So 
thinking,  and  with  a  frank  speech,  I  beg  of  thee  to 
accept  this  commission.  It  confers  on  thee  all  military 
command  in  this  county  of  Granville,  to  pursue  the  enemies 
of  the  colony  with  fire  and  sword — to  control  its  people  for 
the  purposes  of  war  in  dangerous  times  like  the  present — • 
and  to  do,  so  long  as  this  insurrection  shall  continue,  what- 
ever may  seem  wise  to  thy  mind,  for  the  proprietors  and  for 
the  people,  as  if  they  had  spoken  through  thy  own  mouth. 
Is  the  trust  agreeable  to  thee  ?  " 

"  Who  art  thou  ?  "  was  .the  surprised  response  of  the  youth, 
looking  a  degree  of  astonishment,  corresponding  with  that 
upon  the  faces  of  all  around,  to  whom  the  speaker  had 
hitherto  only  been  known  as  Gabriel  Harrison. 

"True — let  me  answer  that  question.  The  reply  belongs 
to  more  than  one.  Bess,  dearest,  thou  shalt  now  be  satisfied; 
but  in  learning  my  secret,  thou  losest  thy  lover.  Know,  then, 
thou  hast  Gabriel  Harrison  no  longer !  My  true  name  is 
Charles   Craven !  " 

"  The  Governor  !  " — faltered  Grayson. 

"  Ha  !  what !  "  exclaimed  the  pastor. 

"  The  Governor  " — roared  Xichols — "  the  Governor,  him- 
self— the  Lord  Palatine  of  Carolina  !  " 

Bess  Matthews  only  murmured — "  Oh  !  Gabriel !  "  as  she 
sank,  with  her  heart  full  of  silent  happiness,  into  the  arms 


426  THE  1EMASSEE. 

of  her  lover.  Meanwhile,  the  loud  and  joyful  shout  of  all 
around  attested  the  gratification  with  which  the  people 
recognised,  in  an  old  acquaintance,  the  most  popular  governor 
of  the  Carolinas,  under  the  lords-proprietors,  whom  the 
Carolinians  ever  had.* 

"  I  take  your  commission,  my  lord,"  replied  Grayson,  with 
a  degree  of  firm  manliness,  superseding  his  gloomy  expres- 
sion and  clearing  it  away — "  I  take  it,  sir,  and  will  proceed  at 
once  to  the  execution  of  its  duties.  Your  present  sugges- 
tions, sir,  will  be  of  value." 

"  You  shall  have  them,  Master  Grayson,  in  few  words," 
was  the  reply  of  the  Palatine.  "  It  will  be  your  plan  to  move 
down  with  your  present  force  along  the  river,  taking  with 
you,  as  you  proceed,  all  the  settlers,  so  as  to  secure  their 
safety.  Your  point  of  rest  and  defence  will  be  the  fort  at 
Port  Royal,  which  now  lacks  most  of  its  garrison  from  the 
draught  made  on  it  by  my  orders  to  Bellinger,  and  which 
gave  you  command  of  the  brave  men  you  brought  up  last 
night.  I  shall  be  at  Port  Royal  before  you,  and  will  do  what 
I  may  there,  in  the  meanwhile,  towards  its  preparation, 
whether  for  friend  or  foe.  With  your  present  force,  and 
what  I  shall  send  you  on  my  arrival  at  Charleston,  you  will 
be  adequate  to  its  defence." 

"  Ahem,  Ahem ! — My  lord,"  cried  Xichols,  awkwardly 
approaching — "  My  lord,  permit  me,  with  all  due  humility, 
to  suggest  that  the  duties  so  assigned  Master  Grayson  are 
heavy  upon  such  young  hands.  Ahem !  my  lord — it  is  not 
now  that  I  have  to  say  that  I  have  never  yet  shrunk  from 
the  service  of  the  people.    I  would — " 

*  "Craven  was  a  man  of  good  judgment,  prudence,  courage, 
and  integrity;  and,  mutual  esteem  in  council,  and  harmony  in 
the  colony,  followed  his  appointment.  He  improved  the  defences 
of  the  colony,  cultivated  the  friendship  of  the  neighboring 
Indians  and  Spaniards,  and  took  especial  heed  to  the  equitable 
and  prompt  administration  of  justice.  Under  his  direction,  the 
harbor  of  Port  Royal  was  sounded  and  examined,  and  the  spot 
selected  for  the  future  erection  of  the  town  of  Beaufort — so 
called,  in  honor  of  Henry,  duke  of  Beaufort,  afterward  lord- 
palatine  of  the  colony." — Simm's  History  of  South  Carolina,  p. 
85.  Compare  also  Rivers's  Historical  Sketches  of  South  Caro- 
lina, pp.  251-2. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  427 

"  Ay,  ay,  ISTichols — I  know  what  you  would  say,  and  duly 
estimate  your  public  spirit ;  but,  as  you  are  the  only  surgeon — 
indeed,  the  only  medical  man  in  the  parish — to  risk  your  life 
unnecessarily,  in  a  command  so  full  of  peril  as  that  assigned 
Master  Grayson,  would  be  very  injudicious.  We  may  spare 
a  soldier — or  even  an  officer — but  the  loss  of  a  doctor  is  not 
so  easily  supplied — and  "■ — here  his  voice  sank  into  a  whisper, 
as  he  finished  the  sentence  in  the  ears  of  the  patriot — "  the 
probability  is,  that  your  commander,  from  the  perilous  ser- 
vice upon  which  he  goes,  will  be  the  very  first  to  claim  your 
skill." 

"Well,  my  lord,  if  I  must,  I  must — but  you  can  under- 
stand, though  it  does  not  become  me  to  say,  how  readily  I 
should  meet  death  in  behalf  of  the  people/' 

"  That  I  know — that  I  know,  Nichols.  Your  patriotism  is 
duly  estimated.  Enough,  now — and  farewell,  gentlemen — 
God  speed,  and  be  your  surety.  Granger,  let  us  have  boats 
for  the  city." 

"  Young  missis,"  whispered  Hector,  taking  Bess  Matthews 
aside — "let  me  beg  you  call  Hector  your  sarbant — tell 
maussa  you  must  hab  me — dat  you  can't  do  widout  me — and 
den,  you  see,  missis,  he  wun't  bodder  me  any  more  wid  he 
f oolish  talk  'bout  freedom.  Den,  you  see,  he  can't  turn  me  off, 
no  how."  She  promised  him  as  he  desired,  and  he  went  off  to 
the  boats  singing: — 

"  Go   hush  you  tongue,   ole  nigger, 

Wha'   for  you   grumble  so, 
You  hab  you  own  good  maussa, 

And  you  hab  good  missis  too; 
■  Che-weet,  che-weet,'  de  little  bird  cry, 

When  he  put  he  nose  under  he  wing, 
But  he  hab  no  song  like  Hector  make, 

When  de  young  misses  yerry  um  sing." 

"  Well,  good-by,  Maussa  Doctor,  good-by  !    Dem  Injins  'mem- 
ber you  long  time — dem  dat  you  kill  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  black  rascal ! "  cried  Constantine 


428  THE  YEMASSEE. 

Maximilian  to  the  retreating  negro,  who  saw  the  regretful 
expression  with  which  the  medical  man  surveyed  the  prepara- 
tion for  a  departure  from  the  scene  of  danger,  in  the  securities 
of  which  he  was  not  permitted  to  partake.  Three  cheers 
marked  the  first  plunge  of  the  boats  from  the  banks,  bearing 
off  the  gallant  Palatine  with  his  peerless  forest-flower. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  429 


CHAPTER  LII. 

Our  tale  becomes  history.  The  web  of  fiction  is  woven — 
the  romance  is  nigh  over.  The  old  wizard  may  not  trench 
upon  the  territories  of  truth.  He  stops  short  at  her  approach 
with  a  becoming  reyerence.  It  is  for  all  things,  even  for  the 
upsoaring  fancy,  to  worship  and  keep  to  the  truth.  There 
is  no  security  unless  in  its  restraints.  The  fancy  may  play 
capriciously  only  with  the  unknown.  Where  history  dare  not 
go,  it  is  then  for  poetry,  borrowing  a  wild  gleam  from  the 
blear  eye  of  tradition,  to  couple  with  her  own  the  wings  of 
imagination,  and  overleap  the  boundaries  of  the  defined  and 
certain.  We  have  done  this  in  our  written  pages.  We  may 
do  this  no  longer.  The  old  chronicle  is  before  us,  and  the 
sedate  muse  of  history,  from  her  graven  tablets,  dictates  for 
the  future.    We  write  at  her  bidding  now. 

In  safety,  and  with  no  long  delay,  Harrison, — or,  as  we 
should  call  him,  the  Palatine, — reached  Charleston,  the 
metropolis  of  Carolina.  He  found  it  in  sad  dilemma  and  dis- 
may. As  he  had  feared,  the  warlike  savages  were  at  its  gates. 
The  citizens  were  hemmed  in — confined  to  the  shelter  of  the 
seven  forts  which  girdled  its  dwellings — half-starved,  and 
kept  in  constant  watchfulness  against  hourly  surprise.  The 
Indians  had  ravaged  with  fire  and  the  tomahawk  alf  the 
intervening  country.  Hundreds  of  the  innocent  and  unthink- 
ing inhabitants  had  perished  by  deaths  the  most  painful  and 
protracted.  The  farmer  had  been  shot  down  in  the  furrows 
where  he  sowed  his  corn.  His  child  had  been  butchered  upon 
the  threshold,  when,  hearing  the  approaching  footsteps,  it 
had  run  to  meet  its  father.  The  long  hair  of  his  young  wife, 
grasped  in  the  clutches  of  the  murderer,  became  the  decora- 
tion of  a  savage,  which  had  once  been  the  charm  of  an  angel. 
Death  and  desolation  smoked  along  the  wide  stretch  of  coun- 
try bordering  the  coast,  and  designating  the  route  of  Euro- 
pean settlement  in  the  interior.  In  the  neighbourhood  of 
Pocota-ligo  alone,  ninety  persons  were  slain.  St.  Bartholo- 
mew's parish  was  ravaged — the  settlement  of  Stono,  including 


430  THE  YEMASSEE. 

the  beautiful  little  church  of  that  place,  was  entirely  destroyed 
by  fire,  while  but  few  of  the  inhabitants,  even  of  the  sur- 
rounding plantations,  escaped  the  fury  of  the  invaders.  All 
the  country  about  Dorchester,  then  new  as  a  settlement,  and 
forming  the  nucleus  of  that  once  beautiful  and  attractive,  but 
thrice-doomed  village,  shared  the  same  fate,  until  the  invaders 
reached  Goose  Creek,  when  the  sturdy  militia  of  that  parish, 
led  on  by  Captain  Chiquan,  a  gallant  young  Huguenot,  gave 
them  a  repulse,  and  succeeding  in  throwing  themselves 
between  the  savages  and  the  city,  reached 'Charleston,  in  time 
to  assist  in  the  preparations  making  for  its  defence. 

The  arrival  of  the  Palatine  gave  a  new  life  and  fresh  con- 
fidence to  the  people.  His  course  was  such  as  might  have  been 
expected  from  his  decisive  character.  He  at  once  proclaimed 
martial  law — laid  an  embargo,  preventing  the  departure  of 
any  of  the  male  citizens,  and  the  exportation  of  clothes,  pro- 
visions, or  anything  which  might  be  useful  to  the  colonists 
in  their  existing  condition.  Waiting  for  no  act  of  Assembly 
to  authorize  his  proceedings,  but  trusting  to  their  subsequent 
sense  of  right  to  acknowledge  and  ratify  what  he  had  done,  he 
proceeded  by  draught,  levy,  and  impressment,  to  raise  an 
army  of  eleven  hundred  men,  in  addition  to  those  employed 
in  maintaining  the  capital.  In  this  proceeding  he  still  more 
signally  showed  his  decision  of  character,  by  venturing  upon 
an  experiment  sufficiently  dangerous  to  alarm  those  not 
acquainted  with  the  condition  of  the  southern  negro.  Four 
hundred  of  the  army  so  raised,  consisted  of  slaves,  drawn 
from  the  parishes  according  to  assessment.  Charleston  gave 
thirty — Christ  Church,  sixteen — St.  Thomas  and  St.  Dennis, 
fifty-five — St.  James,  Goose  Creek,  fifty-five — St.  Andrew's, 
eighty — St.  John's,  Berkley,  sixty — St.  Paul's,  forty-five — 
St.  James's,  Santee,  thirty-five — St.  Bartholomew's,  sixteen 
■ — St.  Helena,  eight — making  up  the  required  total  of  four 
hundred.  To  these,  add  six  hundred  Carolinians,  and  one 
hundred  friendly  Indians  or  allies;  these  latter  being  Tusca- 
roras,*  from  North  Carolina,  almost  the  only  Indian  nation  in 

*  Apart  from  his  pay  in  this  war,  each  Tuscarora  received,  on 
returning  home,  as  a  bounty,  one  gun,  one  hatchet;  and  for  every 
slave  which  he  may  have  lost,  an  enemy's  slave  in  return 
ISimms's  Note"]! 


THE  YEMASSEE.  431 

the  south  not  in  league  against  the  colony.  Other  bodies  of 
men  were  also  raised  for  stations,  keeping  possession  of  the 
Block  Houses  at  points  most  accessible  to  the  foe,  and  where 
the  defence  was  most  important.  At  the  Savano  town,  a 
corps  of  forty  men  were  stationed — a  similar  force  at  Rawlin's 
Bluff  on  the  Edistoh ;  at  Port  Koyal ;  on  the  Combahee ;  at 
the  Horseshoe,  and  other  places,  in  like  manner;  all  forming 
so  many  certain  garrisons  to  the  end  of  the  war.  All  other 
steps  taken  by  the  Palatine  were  equally  decisive;  and  such 
were  the  severe  and  summary  penalties  annexed  to  the  non- 
performance of  the  duties  required  from  the  citizen,  that  there 
was  no  evasion  of  their  execution.  Death  was  the  doom, 
whether  of  desertion  from  duty,  or  of  a  neglect  to  appear  at 
the  summons  to  the  field.  The  sinews  of  war  in  another 
respect  were  also  provided  by  the  Palatine.  He  issued  bills 
of  credit  for  30,000?.  to  raise  supplies;  the  counterfeiting  of 
which,  under  the  decree  of  the  privy  council,  was  punishable 
by  death  without  benefit  of  clergy.*  Having  thus  prepared 
for  the  contest,  he  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  his  rude 
levies,  and  with  a  word  of  promise  and  sweet  regret  to  his 
young  bride,  he  marched  out  to  meet  the  enemy. 

"War  with  the  American  Indians  was  a  matter  of  far  greater 
romance  than  modern  European  warfare  possibly  can  be. 
There  was  nothing  of  regular  array  in  such  conflicts  as  those 
of  the  borderers  with  the  savages;  and  individual  combats, 
such  as  give  interest  to  story,  were  common  events  in  all 
such  issues.  The  borderer  singled  out  his  foe,  and  grappled 
with  him  in  the  full  confidence  of  superior  muscle.  With 
him,  too,  every  ball  was  fated.  He  threw  away  no  shot  in 
line.  His  eye  conducted  his  finger;  and  he  touched  no  trigger, 
unless  he  first  ranged  the  white  drop  at  the  muzzle  of  his 
piece  upon  some  vital  point  of  his  foe's  person.  War,  really, 
was  an  art,  and  a  highly  ingenious  one,  in  the  deep  recesses 
and  close   swamps  of  the  southern  forests.     There  was  no 

*  In  old  English  law  benefit  of  clergy  meant  the  exemption  of 
all  priests  or  ecclesiastics  from  trial  in  any  other  than  a  church 
court.  In  time  the  privilege  came  to  be  extended  to  all  persons 
who  could  read,  so  that  practically  any  person  with  the  ability 
to  read  at  all  was  exempt  from  punishment  for  his  crimes.  The 
law  was  finally  abolished  in  1827. 


432  THE  YEMASSEE. 

bull-headed  marching  up  to  the  mouth  of  the  cannon.  Their 
pride  was  to  get  around  it — to  come  in  upon  the  rear — to 
insinuate — to  dodge — to  play  with  fears  or  the  false  confidence 
of  the  foe,  so  as  to  effect  by  surprise  what  could  not  be  done 
by  other  means.  These  were  the  arts  of  the  savages.  It  was 
fortunate  for  the  Carolinians  that  their  present  leader  knew 
them  so  well.  Practised  as  he  had  been,  the  Palatine  pro- 
ceeded leisurety,  but  decisively,  to  contend  with  his  enemies 
on  their  own  ground,  and  after  their  own  fashion.  He  omitted 
no  caution  which  could  insure  against  surprise,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  he  allowed  himself  no  delay.  Gradually  advanc- 
ing, with  spies  always  out,  he  foiled  all  the  efforts  of  his 
adversary.  In  vain  did  Sanutee  put  all  his  warrior  skill  in 
requisition.  In  vain  did  his  most  cunning  braves  gather 
along  the  sheltered  path  in  ambuscade.  In  vain  did  they 
show  themselves  in  small  numbers,  and  invite  pursuit  by  an 
exhibition  of  timidity.  The  ranks  of  the  Carolinians  remained 
unbroken.  There  was  no  exciting  their  leader  to  precipita- 
tion. His  equanimity  was  invincible,  and  he  kept  his  men 
steadily  upon  their  way — still  advancing — still  backing  their 
adversaries — and  with  courage  and  confidence  in  themselves, 
duly  increasing  with  every  successful  step  in  their  progress. 

Sanutee  did  not  desire  battle,  until  the  force  promised  by 
the  Spaniards  should  arrive.  He  was  in  momentary  expecta- 
tion of  its  appearance.  Still,  he  was  reluctant  to  recede 
from  his  ground,  so  advantageously  taken;  particularly,  too, 
as  he  knew  that  the  Indians,  only  capable  of  sudden  action,  are 
not  the  warriors  for  a  patient  and  protracted  watch  in  the 
field,  avoiding  the  conflict  for  which  they  have  expressly 
come  out.  His  anxieties  grew  with  the  situation  forced  upon 
him  by  the  army  and  position  of  the  Palatine ;  and  gradually 
giving  ground,  he  was  compelled,  very  reluctantly,  to  fall 
back  upon  the  river  of  Salke-hatchie,  where  the  Yemassees 
had  a  small  town,  some  twenty  miles  from  Pocota-ligo.  Here 
he  formed  his  great  camp,  determined  to  recede  no  farther. 
His  position  was  good.  The  river  swamp  ran  in  an  irregular 
sweep,  so  as  partially  to  form  in  front  of  his  array.  His  men 
he  distributed  through  a  thick  copse  running  alongside  of  the 
river,  which  lay  directly  in  his  rear.  In  retreat,  the  swamps 
were  secure  fastnesses,  and  they  were  sufficiently  contiguous. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  433 

The  night  had  set  in  before  he  took  his  position.  The  Caro- 
linians were  advancing,  and  but  a  few  miles  divided  the  two 
armies.  Sanutee  felt  secure  from  attack  so  long  as  he  main- 
tained his  present  position ;  and,  sending  out  scouts,  and  pre- 
paring all  things,  like  a  true  warrior,  for  every  event,  he 
threw  himself,  gloomy  with  conflicting  thoughts,  under  the 
shadow  of  an  old  tree  that  rose  up  in  front  of  his  array. 

While  he  mused,  his  ear  caught  the  approach  of  a  light 
footstep  behind  him.  He  turned,  and  his  eye  rested  upon 
Matiwan.  She  crept  humbly  towards  him,  and  lay  at  his 
feet.  He  did  not  repulse  her;  but  his  tones,  though  gentle 
enough,  were  gloomily  cold. 

"  Would  Matiwan  strike  with  a  warrior,  that  she  comes  to 
the  camp  of  the  Yemassee?  Is  there  no  lodge  in  Pocota-ligo 
for  the  woman  of  a  chief  ?  " 

"  The  lodge  is  not  for  Matiwan,  if  the  chief  be  not  there. 
Shall  the  woman  have  no  eyes  ?  what  can  the  eye  of  Matiwan 
behold  if  Sanutee  stand  not  up  before  it  ?  The  boy  is  not — " 
"  Cha !  cha !  It  is  the  tongue  of  a  foolish  bird  that  sings 
out  of  his  season.  Let  the  woman  speak  of  the  thing  that  is. 
Would  the  chief  of  the  Yemassee  hear  a  song  from  the 
woman?  It  must  be  of  the  big  club,  and  the  heavy  blow. 
Blood  must  be  in  the  song,  and  a  thick  cry." 

"  Matiwan  has  a  song  of  blood  and  a  thick  cry,  the  song  and 
cry  of  Opitchi-Manneyto  when  he  comes  out  of  the  black 
swamps  of  Edistoh.  She  saw  the  black  spirit  with  the  last 
dark.  He  stood  up  before  her  in  the  lodge,  and  he  had  a 
curse  for  the  Woman,  for  Matiwan  took  from  him  his  slave. 
He  had  a  curse  for  Matiwan — and  a  fire-word,  oh,  well- 
beloved,  for  Sanutee." 

"  Cha,  cha !  Sanutee  has  no  ear  for  the  talk  of  a  child." 
"  The    Opitchi-Manneyto    spoke    of    Yemassee,"    said   the 
woman. 

"  Ha !  what  said  the  black  spirit  to  the  woman  of  Yemas- 
see ?  "  was  the  question  of  the  chief,  with  more  earnestness. 

"  The  scalps  of  the  Yemassee  were  in  his  hand — the  teeth 
of  the  Yemassee  were  round  his  neck,  and  he  carried  an  arrow 
that  was  broken." 

"  Thou  liest — thou  hast  a  forked  tongue,  and  a  double  voice 
for  mine  ear.     The  arrow  of  Yemassee  is  whole." 


434  THE  YEMASSEE. 

"  The  chief  has  a  knife  for  the  heart.  Let  the  well-beloved 
strike  the  bosom  of  Matiwan.  Oh,  chief — thou  wilt  see  the 
red  blood  that  is  true.  Strike,  and  tell  it  to  come.  Is  it  not 
thine  ?  "  she  bared  her  breast  as  she  spoke,  and  her  eyes  were 
fixed  full  upon  his  with  a  look  of  resignation  and  of  love, 
which  spoke  her  truth.  The  old  warrior  put  his  hand  tenderly 
upon  the  exposed  bosom,- 

"The  blood  is  good  under  the  hand  of  Sanutee.  Speak, 
Matiwan." 

"The  scalps  of  Yemassee — and  the  long  tuft  of  a  chief 
were  in  the  hand  of  the  Opitchi-Manneyto." 
"  What  chief  ?  "  inquired  Sanutee. 

"  The  great  chief  Sanutee — the  well-beloved  of  the"  Yemas- 
see/' groaned  the  woman,  as  she  denounced  his  own  fate  in 
the  ears  of  the  old  warrior.  She  sank  prostrate  before  him 
when  she  had  spoken,  her  face  prone  to  the  ground.  The 
chief  was  silent  for  an  instant,  after  hearing  the  prediction 
conveyed  by  her  vision,  which  the  native  superstition,  and 
his  own  previous  thoughts  of  gloom,  did  not  permit  him  to 
question.  Raising  her  after  awhile,  he  simply  exclaimed — 
"It  is  good!" 

"  Shall  Matiwan  go  back  to  the  lodge  in  Pocota-ligo  ?  "  she 
asked,  in  a  tone  which  plainly  enough  craved  permission  to 
remain. 

"  Matiwan  will  stay.  The  battle-god  comes  with  the  next 
sun,  and  the  Happy  Valley  is  open  for  the  chief." 

"  Matiwan  is  glad.  The  Happy  Valley  is  for  the  woman  of 
the  chief,  and  the  boy — " 

"  Cha !  it  is  good,  Matiwan,  that  thou  didst  strike  with  the 
keen  hatchet  into  the  head  of  Occonestoga— Good !  But  the 
chief  would  not  hear  of  him.  Look — the  bush  is  ready  for 
thy  sleep!" 

He  pointed  to  the  copse  as  he  spoke,  and  his  manner  for- 
bade further  conversation.  Leaving  her,  he  took  his  way 
among  the  warriors,  arranging  the  disposition  of  his  camp  and 
of  future  events. 

Meanwhile,  the  Palatine  approached  the  enemy  slowly, 
but  with  certainty,  and  with  the  resolve  to  make  him  fight  if 
possible.  Confident,  as  he  advanced,  he  nevertheless  made  his 
approaches  sure.     He  took  counsel  of  all  matters  calculated 


THE  YEMASSEE.  435 

to  affect  or  concern  the  controversies  of  war.  He  omitted  no 
precaution — spared  no  pains — suffered  nothing  to  divert  him 
from  the  leading  object  in  which  his  mind  was  interested. 
His  scouts  were  ever  in  motion,  and  as  he  himself  knew  much 
of  the  country  through  which  he  marched,  his  information 
was  at  all  times  certain.  He  pitched  his  camp  within  a  mile 
of  the  position  chosen  by  the  Yemassees,  upon  ground  care- 
fully selected  so  as  to  prevent  surprise.  His  main  force  lay 
in  the  hollow  of  a  wood,  which  spread  in  the  rear  of  a  small 
mucky  bay,  interposed  directly  between  his  own  and  the  main 
position  of  the  enemy.  A  thick  copse  hung  upon  either  side, 
and  here  he  scattered  a  chosen  band  of  his  best  sharp-shooters. 
They  had  their  instructions ;  and  as  he  left  as  little  as  possible 
to  chance,  he  took  care  that  they  fulfilled  them.  Such  were 
his  arrangements  that  night,  as  soon  as  his  ground  of  encamp- 
ment had  been  chosen. 

At  a  given  signal,  the  main  body  of  the  army  retired  to 
their  tents.  The  blanket  of  each  soldier,  suspended  from  a 
crotch-stick,  as  was  the  custom  of  war  in  that  region,  formed 
his  covering  from  the  dews  of  night.  The  long  grass  con- 
stituted a  bed  sufficiently  warm  and  soft  in  a  clime,  and  at  a 
season,  so  temperate.  The  fires  were  kindled,  the  roll  of  the 
drum  in  one  direction,  and  the  mellow  tones  of  the  bugle  in 
another,  announced  the  sufficient  signal  for  repose.  Weary 
with  the  long  march  of  the  day,  the  greater  number  were  soon 
lulled  into  a  slumber,  as  little  restrained  by  thought  as  if 
all  were  free  from  danger  and  there  were  no  enemy  before 
them. 

But  the  guardian  watchers  had  been  carefully  selected  by 
their  provident  leader,  and  they  slept  not.  The  Palatine  him- 
self was  a  sufficient  eye  over  that  slumbering  host.  _  He  was 
unwearied  and  wakeful.  He  could  not  be  otherwise.  His 
thought  kept  busy  note  of  the  hours  and  of  the  responsibilities 
upon  him.  It  is  thus  that  the  leading  mind  perpetually  exhibits 
proofs  of  its  immortality,  maintaining  the  physical  nature  in 
its  weakness,  renewing  its  strength,  feeding  it  with  a  fire 
that  elevates  its  attributes,  and  almost  secures  it  in 
immortality  too.  The  Governor  knew  his  enemy,  and  sus- 
pecting his  wiles,  he  prepared  his  own  counter-stratagems. 
His   arrangements   were  well   devised,   and   he   looked   with 


436  THE  YEMASSEE. 

impatience  for  the  progress  of  the  hours  which  were  to  bring 
about  the  result  he  now  contemplated  as  certain. 

It  was  early  morning,  some  three  hours  before  the  dawn, 
and  the  grey  squirrel  had  already  begun  to  scatter  the  decayed 
branches  from  the  tree-tops  in  which  he  built  his  nest,  when 
the  Palatine  roused  his  officers,  and  they  in  turn  the  men. 
They  followed  his  bidding  in  quick  movement,  and  without 
noise;  they  were  marshalled  in  little  groups,  leaving  their 
blanket  tents  standing  precisely  as  when  they  lay  beneath 
them.  Under  their  several  leaders  they  were  marched  for- 
ward, in  single  or  Indian  file,  through  the  copse  which  ran 
along  on  either  side  of  their  place  of  encampment.  They  were 
halted,  just  as  they  marched,  with  their  tents  some  few  hun- 
dred yards  behind  them.  Here  they  were  dispersed  through 
the  forest,  at  given  intervals,  each  warrior  having  his  bush  or 
tree  assigned  him.  Thus  stationed,  they  were  taught  to  be 
watchful  and  to  await  the  movements  of  the  enemy. 

The  Palatine  had  judged  rightly.  He  was  satisfied  that 
the  Yemassees  would  be  unwilling  to  have  the  battle  forced 
upon  them  at  Pocota-ligo,  exposing  their  women  and  children 
to  the  horrors  of  an  indiscriminate  fight.  To  avoid  this,  it 
was  necessary  that  they  should  anticipate  his  approach  to 
that  place.  The  Salke-hatchie  was  the  last  natural  barrier 
which  they  could  well  oppose  to  his  progress ;  and  the  swamps 
and  thick  fastnesses  which  marked  the  neighbourhood,  indi- 
cated it  well  as  the  most  fitting  spot  for  Indian  warfare.  This 
was  in  the  thought  of  the  Palatine  not  less  than  of  Sanutee; 
and  in  this  lay  one  of  the  chief  merits  of  the  former  as  a 
captain.  He  thought  for  his  enemy.  He  could  not  narrow 
his  consideration  of  the  game  before  him  to  his  own  play; 
and  having  determined  what  was  good  policy  with  his  foe,  he 
prepared  his  own  to  encounter  it. 

Sanutee  had  been  greatly  aided  in  the  progress  of  this  war 
by  the  counsels  of  the  celebrated  Creek  chief,  Chigilli,  who 
led  a  small  band  of  the  lower  Creeks  and  Euchees  in  the 
insurrection.  With  his  advice,  he  determined  upon  attack- 
ing the  Carolinian  army  before  the  dawn  of  the  ensuing  day. 
That  night*  arranged  his  proceedings,  and,  undaunted  by  the 

*  Evidently  some  such  word  as  "he"  or  "Sanutee"  has  dropped 
out  between  "night  and  "arranged." 


THE  YEMASSEE.  437 

communication  of  his  fate,  revealed  to  him  in  the  vision  of 
Matiwan,  and  which,  perhaps — with  the  subdued  emotions 
of  one  who  had  survived  his  most  absorbing  affections — he 
was  not  unwilling  to  believe,  he  roused  his  warriors  at  a 
sufficiently  early  hour,  and  they  set  forward,  retracing  their 
steps,  and  well  prepared  to  surprise  their  enemy.  The  voice 
of  the  whippoorwill  regulated  their  progress  through  the 
doubtful  and  dark  night,  and  without  interruption  they  went 
on  for  a  mile  or  more,  until  their  scouts  brought  them  word 
that  the  yellow  blankets  of  the  whites  glimmered  through 
the  shadows  of  the  trees  before  them.  With  increased  caution, 
therefore,  advancing,  they  came  to  a  point  commanding  a 
full  view  of  the  place  of  repose  of  the  Carolinian  army.  Here 
they  halted,  placing  themselves  carefully  in  cover,  and  wait- 
ing for  the  earliest  show  of  dawn  in  which  to  commence  the 
attack  by  a  deadly  and  general  fire  upon  the  tents  and  their 
flying  inmates.  In  taking  such  a  position,  they  placed  them- 
selves directly  between  the  two  divisions  of  the  Palatine's 
force,  which,  skirting  the  copse  on  either  hand,  formed  a 
perfect  ambush.  The  Yemassees  did  not  suspect  their  enemy ; 
who  were  so  placed,  that,  whenever  the  red  men  should  make 
their  demonstration  upon  the  tents,  where  the  supposed 
sleepers  la}f,  which  they  were  wont  to  do  just  before  the  dawn 
— they  would  be  prepared  and  ready  to  cover  them  with  cross 
fires,  and  to  come  out  upon  their  wings  and  rear,  taking  them 
at  a  vantage  which  must  give  a  fatal  blow  to  their  enterprise. 
It  came  at  last,  the  day  so  long  and  patiently  looked  for  by 
both  parties.  A  faint  gleam  of  light  gushed  through  the  trees, 
and  a  grey  streak  like  a  fine  thread  stole  out  upon  the  horizon. 
Then  rose  the  cry,  the  fierce  war-whoop  of  Yemassee  and 
Creek.  "  Sangarrah-me,  Sangarrah-me! '"  was  the  deafening 
shout  of  the  savages  with  which  they  calculated  to  terrify  the 
souls  of  those  whom  they  thus  awakened  from  bewildering 
sleep.  Blood  for  the  Yemassee,  blood  for  the  Cherokee,  blood 
for  the  Creek — were  the  cries  which,  at  a  given  moment,  car- 
ried forward  the  thousand  fierce  and  dusky  warriors  of  the  con- 
federate nations  upon  the  tents  which  they  fondly  imagined 
to  contain  their  sleeping  enemies.  The  shots  penetrated  the 
blankets  in  every  direction — the  arrows  hurtled  on  all  sides 
through  the  air,  and,  rapidly  advancing  with  the  first  dis- 


438  THE  YEMASSEE. 

charge,  the  Indians  rushed  to  the  tents,  tomahawk  in  hand, 
to  strike  down  the  fugitives. 

In  that  moment,  the  sudden  hurrah  of  the  Carolinians,  in 
their  rear  and  on  their  sides,  aroused  them  to  a  knowledge  of 
that  stratagem  which  had  anticipated  their  own.  The  shot 
told  fatally  on  their  exposed  persons,  and  a  fearful  account 
of  victims  came  with  the  very  first  discharge  of  the  sharp- 
shooting  foresters.  Consternation,  for  a  moment,  followed 
the  first  consciousness  which  the  Indians  had  of  their  predica- 
ment; but  desperation  took  the  place  of  surprise.  Sanutee 
and  Chigilli  led  them  in  every  point,  and  wherever  the  face 
of  the  foe  could  be  seen.  Their  valour  was  desperate  but 
cool,  and  European  warfare  has  never  shown  a  more  deter- 
mined spirit  of  bravery  than  was  then  manifested  by  the  wild 
warriors  of  Yemassee,  striking  the  last  blow  for  the  glory  and 
the  existence  of  their  once  mighty  nation.  Driven  back  on  one 
side  and  another,  they  yet  returned  fiercely  and  fearlessly  to 
the  conflict,  with  a  new  strength  and  an  exaggerated  degree 
of  fury.  Chigilli,  raging  like  one  of  his  own  forest  panthers, 
fell  fighting,  with  his  hand  wreathed  in  the  long  hair  of  one  of 
the  borderers,  whom  he  had  grappled  behind  his  tree,  and  for 
whose  heart  his  knife  was  already  flashing  in  the  air.  A 
random  shot  saved  the  borderer,  by  passing  directly  through 
the  skull  of  the  Indian.  A  howl  of  despairing  vengeance 
went  up  from  the  tribe  which  he  led,  as  they  beheld  him  fall ; 
and  rushing  upon  the  sheltered  whites,  as  they  sought  to 
reclaim  his  body,  they  experienced  the  same  fate  to  a  man! 
For  two  hours  after  this  the  fight  raged*  recklessly  and  fierce. 
The  Indians  were  superior  in  number  to  the  Carolinians,  but 
the  surprise  of  their  first  assault  was  productive  of  a  panic 
from  which  they  never  perfectly  recovered.  This  was  more 
than  an  off-set  to  any  disparity  of  force  orginally ;  and,  as  the 

*  McCrady's  account  of  this  battle  is  as  follows:  "The  Gov- 
ernor [Craven]  halted  for  the  night  near  the  Combahee  River, 
within  sixteen  miles  of  the  enemy's  town,  and  was  attacked  early 
the  next  morning  by  about  500  of  the  Yamassees..  Notwith- 
standing the  surprise,  he  soon  put  his  men  in  order  and,  after  an 
engagement  of  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  routed  the  enemy  with 
the  loss  of  only  one  man  killed  and  a  few  wounded;  while  of  the 
Indians,  besides  the  wounded  some  of  their  chief  leaders  were 
slain." — History  of  South  Carolina,  i.,  p.  535. 


THE  YEMASSEE.  439 

position  of  the  whites  had  been  well  taken,  the  Yemassees 
found  it  impossible  in  the  end  to  force  it.  The  sun,  risen 
fairly  above  the  forests,  beheld  them  broken— without  con- 
cert—hopeless of  all  further  effort— flying  in  every  direction ; 
shot  down  as  they  ran  into  the  open  grounds,  and  crushed  by 
the  servile  auxiliaries  of  the  whites  as  they  sought  for  shelter 
in  the  cover  of  the  woods,  assigned,  for  this  very  purpose,  to 
the   negroes. 

A  brief  distance  apart  from  the  melee,— free  from  the 
flying  crowd,  as  the  point  was  more  exposed  to  danger— one 
spot  of  the  field  of  battle  rose  into  a  slight  elevation.  A  little 
group  rested  upon  it,  consisting  of  four  persons.  Two  of 
them  were  Yemassee  subordinates.  One  of  them  was  already 
dead.  From  the  bosom  of  the  other,  in  thick  currents,  freez- 
ing fast,  the  life  was  rapidly  ebbing.  He  looked  up  as  he 
expired,  and  his  last  broken  words,  in  his  own  language,  were 
those  of  homage  and  affection  to  the  well-beloved  of  his  people 
— the  great  chief,  Sanutee. 

It  was  the  face  of  the  "well-beloved"  upon  whom  his 
glazed  eyes  were  fixed  with  an  expression  of  admiration,  indic- 
ative of  the  feeling  of  his  whole  people,  and  truly  signifying 
that  of  the  dying  Indian  to  the  last.  The  old  chief  looked 
down  on  him  encouraging,  as  the  warrior  broke  out  into  a 
start  of  song — the  awful  song  of  the  dying.  The  spirit  parted 
with  the  effort,  and  Sanutee  turned  his  eyes  from  the  con- 
templation of  the  melancholy  spectacle  to  the  only  living 
person  beside  him. 

That  person  was  Matiwan.  She  hung  over  the  well-beloved 
warrior,  with  an  affection  as  purely  true,  as  warmly  strong, 
as  the  grief  of  her  soul  was  speechless  and  tearless.  Her 
hand  pressed  closely  upon  his  side,  from  which  the  vital  tor- 
rent was  pouring  fast ;  and  between  the  two,  in  a  low  moan- 
ing strain,  in  the  Yemassee  tongue,  they  bewailed  the  fortunes 
of  their  nation. 

"  The  eye  of  Matiwan  looked  on,  when  the  tomahawk  was 
red — when  the  knife  had  a  wing.  She  saw  Chigilli,  the  brave 
of  the  Creeks — she  saw  him  strike?"  inquired  the  chief  of 
the  woman. 

"Matiwan  saw." 

"  Let  the  woman  say  of  Sanutee,  the  well-beloved  of  Yemas- 


440  THE  YEMASSEE. 

see.  Did  Chigilli  go  before  him?  Was  Sanutee  a  dog  that 
runs?  Was  the  hatchet  of  a  chief  slow?  Did  the  well- 
beloved  strike  at  the  pale-face  as  if  the  red  eye  of  Opitchi- 
Manneyto  had  looked  on  him  for  a  slave  ?  " 

"The  well-beloved  is  the  great  brave  of  Yemassee.  The 
other  chiefs  came  after.  Matiwan  saw  him  strike  like  a  chief, 
when  the  battle  was  thick  with  a  rush,  and  the  hatchet  was 
deep  in  the  head  of  a  pale  warrior.  Look,  oh,  well-beloved — 
is  not  this  the  bullet  of  the  white  man  ?  The  big  knife  is  in 
the  bosom  of  a  chief,  and  the  blood  is  like  a  rope  on  the  fingers 
of  Matiwan." 

"  It  is  from  the  heart  of  Sanutee !" 

"  Ah-cheray-me — ah-cheray-me  !  "  groaned  the  woman,  in 
savage  lamentation,  as  she  sank  down  beside  the  old  warrior, 
one  arm  now  enclasping  his  already  rigid  person. 

"  It  is  good,  Matiwan.  The  well-beloved  has  no  people. 
The  Yemassee  has  bones  in  the  thick  woods,  and  there  are 
no  young  braves  to  sing  the  song  of  his  glory.  The  Coosah- 
moray-te  is  on  the  bosom  of  the  Yemassee,  with  the  foot  of 
the  great  bear  of  Apalachia.  He  makes  his  bed  in  the  old 
home  of  Pocota-ligo,  like  a  fox  that  burrows  in  the  hill-side. 
We  may  not  drive  him  away.  It  is  good  for  Sanutee  to  die 
with  his  people.     Let  the  song  of  his  dying  be  sung." 

"  Ah-cheray-me — ah-cheray-me  !  "  was  the  only  response 
of  the  woman,  as,  but  partially  equal  to  the  effort,  the  chief 
began  his  song  of  many  victories. 

But  the  pursuers  were  at  hand,  in  the  negroes,  now  scour- 
ing the  field  of  battle  with  their  huge  clubs  and  hatchets, 
knocking  upon  the  head  all  of  the  Indians  who  yet  exhibited 
any  signs  of  life.  As  wild  almost  as  the  savages,  they 
luxuriated  in  a  pursuit  to  them  so  very  novel — they  hurried 
over  the  forests  with  a  step  as  fleet,  and  a  ferocity  as  dreadful 
— sparing  none,  whether  they  fought  or  pleaded,  and  fre- 
quently inflicting  the  most  unnecessary  blows,  even  upon  the 
dying  and  the  dead. 

The  eye  of  Matiwan,  while  watching  the  expiring  blaze 
in  that  of  the  old  warrior,  discovered  the  approach  of  one 
of  these  sable  enemies.  She  threw  up  her  hand  to  arrest  or 
impede  the  blow,  declaring,  as  she  did  so,  the  name  of  the  chief 
she  defended.    He  himself  feebly  strove  to  grasp  the  hatchet, 


THE  YEMASSEE.  441 

which  had  sunk  from  his  hands,  to  defend  himself,  or  at  least 
to  strike  the  assailant ;  but  the  expiring  life  had  only  gathered 
for  a  moment,  stagnating  about  his  heart.  The*  arm  was 
palsied ;  but  the  half -unclosing  eye,  which  glowed  wildly  upon 
the  black. and  arrested  his  blow  much  more  completely  than 
the  effort  of  Matiwan,  attested  the  yet  reluctant  conscious- 
ness. Life  went  with  the  last  effort,  when,  thinking  only 
of  the  strife  for  his  country,  his  lips  parted  feebly  with  the 
cry  of  battle — "  Sangarrah-me,  Yemassee — Sangarrah-me — 
Sangarrah-me ! " 

The  eye  was  dim  for  ever.  Looking  no  longer  to  the  danger 
of  the  stroke  from  the  club  of  the  negro,  Matiwan  threw  her- 
self at  length  upon  the  body,  now  doubly  sacred  to  that  child- 
less woman.  At  that  moment  the  Lord  Palatine  came  up,  in 
time  to  arrest  the  blow  of  the  servile  which  still  threatened 
her. 

"  Matiwan,"  said  the  Palatine,  stooping  to  raise  her  from 
the  body— "  Matiwan,  it  is  the  chief?" 

"  Ah-cheray-me,  ah-cheray-me,  Sanutee — Ah-cheray-me, 
ah-cheray-me,  Yemassee ! " 

She  was  unconscious  of  all  things,  as  they  bore  her  tenderly 
away,  save  that  the  Yemassee  was  no  longer  the  great  nation. 
She  only  felt  that  the  "  well-beloved,"  as  well  of  herself  as  of 
her  people,  looked  forth,  with  Occonestoga,  wondering  that  she 
came  not,  from  the  Blessed  Valley  of  the  Good  Manneyto. 


THE   END. 


THT 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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